Kiley Black and the Seven Werewolves
by The Sarcastic Litttle Muffin
Summary: I've got some deep dark family curse & suddenly I'm being shipped out to a reservation.& if that wasn't bad enough,I spend every waking moment with seven loud,obnoxious,pig-headed boys.Every normal girl's fantasy right?Yeah…right. Embry/OFC.T Just in Case
1. I'd Rather Have the Psychotic Boyfriend

Kiley Black and the 7 Werewolves

**Prequel:**

"I'd Rather Have the Psychotic Boyfriend…"

Life isn't fair. Yeah, I get it. Believe me. I know. Everybody's got something they've got to deal with, right? Dry skin, a lousy job, psychotic ex-boyfriends who try to run you over with their cars. The list goes on from there. I guess my problem is "bad genetics"…or maybe "family issues." Neither one of those really sums it up too well. Either way, one second I'm a somewhat average American teenager growing up in the city with my even more unusual crowd and the next…well it's complicated enough. I've got some deep dark family curse on my ass and suddenly I'm being shipped all the way out to a reservation where I am anything but wanted. And if that wasn't bad enough, I spend every waking moment with seven loud, obnoxious, hungry, pig-headed, hormone-crazed boys who can't seem to keep their thoughts to themselves. Every normal girl's fantasy right? Yeah…right. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly "normal" by anyone's definition. If my ranting hasn't bored you already…It's best we take this to the beginning, and you know where all great stories begin…

Math Class.

**Chapter One**:

"This is What Happens When You Bail On A Party to Study for a Math Test"

Math Class. Every teenagers personal hell. Especially when you have Mr. Hardy. I mean you could have closed your eyes and _swore_ you were in Latin. I sigh and copy the notes lazily scribbled on the chalkboard. The rest of the class takes this opportunity to catch up on their beauty sleep. I mean, were talking about Evanburrowkids here.

I live in Westbridge, a small, bustling city with over packed apartments, unbelievable traffic jams, and one of the fastest growing crime rates in the state of California. Evanburrow is the "cleaner" side of town, with the shiny skyscrapers, acres of golf courses, and wrought iron gates to keep people like me out. For the last two years I had been going to Evanburrow Prep, the only student in my class to be on a full ride. Which means two buses to school everyday, the "nerdy poor girl" remarks, and the fact that I actually have to pay attention in math class. Not that I'm complaining or anything. I want this…I _need _this.

It's pretty simple. My mom has a shopping problem. My dad's nowhere to be found. Without a college scholarship, my chances of going to an ivy league school, or _any_ decent school for that matter, are hysterical.

The clock's tedious ticking seems to echo in my ears, growing louder and louder, engulfing my teacher's incessant drones. My head starts to pound and I do my best to tune it out, wishing I had some Tylenol. Without looking behind me I know Nick Bradford is chewing absently on the tip of his pencil, causing the piercing pounding in my head to start up again. It takes all my willpower not snatch it out of his hand, which is something I'd usually never even _dream_ of doing. I grind my teeth and focus on the board. _No biggy. So these headaches have been building up all week. It's probably just the stress, and it's making you irritable. You've got a fever too. Maybe you'll take a nap after work…_

I'm distracted when my best friend at Evanburrow Prep, Stephanie "Babybel Cheese" Cadwick, frantically attempts to keep up with Mr. Hardy and flashes me a look of pure torture. I try to suppress my laughter. _It's tougher than it looks, isn't it? _

Babybel's parents told her if she doesn't pass Pre-Calc this semester their cutting her off at A.C Moore. Babybel's got a knack for knitting, stickers, and anything shiny and/or colorful.

By the end of class, I smooth down my red and blue uniform plaid skirt and gather up my books. When Babybel stands up, I'm shocked to notice how tall I've been getting in the past couple of weeks. In less than two months I've gone from a measly 5'2 to at least a 5'5. I can see the top of Babybel's white blonde hair, ruffled from the day's frustration.

"And don't forget class!" Mr. Hardy remarks quickly as the kids make a dash for the door. "You have your logarithm test _to-morrow_!"

I don't remember it again until after my shift at "Chichi's" a Mexican restaurant/bar/club Marco's parents run at a corner street. I'm wiping down the last of the tables and about to make a run for it until Ronny blocks me at the door. Her wild red curls run all the way down to her shoulders. She wearing a Motley Crue T-shirt and there is a devious look is in her eyes. I can tell she's got something exciting planned when she invites me to some 4 o'clock lets-spoil-your-dinner ice-cream.

At first, I actually _try _to tell her no. This fever has been getting worse all afternoon and even though I don't _feel_ sick, I definitely feel strange. When it's obvious she's not "asking" me I roll my dark eyes at her and head to the stockroom. Marco's shift is over too. Maybe he'd want to come. I find him sitting on a sturdy cardboard box, ipod on full blast, checking inventory.

"Yo Marco!" I holler, my voice bouncing off the walls. He doesn't look up so I snatch the clipboard out from under him and realize he's been doodling all this time. He looks up and gives me a sheepish grin.

"What's up, Kitten? Is my shift over yet?"

"Yeah, but from the looks of _this_," I said, emphasizing the well-drawn sketch of a dragon lighting someone (who suspiciously looks his principal) on fire. "it's been over for two hours."

He snatches the drawing back. "It's just so _boring _in here."

I shrug. "Wanna trade tomorrow?"

"Sure," he replies, standing up. "Now me and Marissa can have some alone time together."

I snort. Marissa is the "hot" twenty-two year old "babe" who comes in everyday for happy hour. "There isn't enough tequila in the world for her to say yes-"

"I've got a _plan_," he says suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. I start laughing and playfully shove him on the shoulder. Unexpectedly, he slams against the wall as if I'd pushed him with as much strength as I have. The shelves above us tremble violently.

It's as if everything is in slow motion. A box of painted plates tips over on the shelf and come spiraling to the floor, as daintily as feathers. Before I even realize I'm doing it, I'm gathering up all the plates with incredible ease and stacking them on top of each other with my free hand. When time decides to speed up again Marco's eyes are darting across the floor, waiting for the sound of smashing ceramics. When he spots the plates in my hands, he gawks at me in disbelief. I almost drop them in total shock.

"What the **hell**!"

I want to laugh bitterly at him. As if I knew the answer. My wide eyes are glued to the plates. My breathing's picked up and my heart's racing.

What _was_ that?

I shake myself out of my baffled state. _You're sick, _I remind myself, _you're adrenaline's pumping or whatever. _I shrug it off, nearly throw the stack of plates into the box and grab Marco's hand, whose blinking furiously, like he'd missed something.

After Marco rambles on about the incident in the stockroom, I continue to blush and look down at my ice-cream. My hands are balling and unballing themselves into fists and I have no idea why. I'm not a violent person at all. That's always been Ronny's department. Though neither one of them notices. Something bigger is on Ronny's mind. As the topic switches from me to some party tonight, and I begin relax. Stupid teenage hormones.

"Ethan Rider caught me at the pipe with Twizler," Ronny explains, trying to keep her couldn't-care-less attitude from shattering, though we both no how wound up she is. "And Carter's older brother just nailed this rich betch so she's letting him throw this party just outside of Evanburrow. They've got this giant pool and everything…"

Her conversation dissolves in my head as a stare absently at some couple fifty feet away. The pounding in my head is up again, and it's like the two of them are arguing into a speaker phone. The longer I stare, the more I pick up about them. The man smells like aftershave and ax; the woman's wearing blue eye shadow and-

"Kit? Didja hear me?" Ronny pokes me and almost sends my ice-cream flying. She takes a moment to laugh and then looks curiously at me. "You okay?"

I blink a few times, trying to make sense of it all. I give a heavy sigh and get off the bench we're sitting on. "No, not really. I gotta go."

"But you _are_ coming with us tonight, right?" Ronny and Marco stare at me expectantly. They know I'm not the party type. There's a reason they call me "Kitten." I'm the innocent one. The safe one. The responsible one. I've got bigger things to worry about, but that didn't mean Ronny wasn't going to drag me to this party anyways. I'm a total buzz kill, but were also friends. And you know the rules: _real_ friends drag you _everywhere_, no matter how stupid or reckless or lame it is. Plus, I've had a crush on Ethan Rider since the 7th grade and Ronny knows it.

"Kiley! Seriously? Are you coming or not?"

"Not," I mutter indignantly, grabbing my backpack.

She gives me a unmotivated bummed out but totally disbelieving look. If I wanted to ditch this party, the excuse had better be better than I'm-not-feeling-well. Who's really going to believe that anyway? Certainly not Ronny.

"Logarithm test. Tomorrow. Freaking out. Ask Babybel."

She grimaces at my dare to call Babybel, knowing I'm telling the truth.

"You've always, and I do mean _always,_ have some kind of work to do. I'm telling you, it's not healthy."

"You know I have to keep up an "A" for my scholarship-"

"Yeah, yeah. That scholarship is really starting to be a major pain. I hardly see you anymore, between the job and everything…"

_She trying to guilt you. Quick, get out of there!_ My head screams. I mumble a half-hearted "sorry" and catch the next bus home.

A few hours later I'm sitting alone in our apartment, doing homework and deciding what to have for dinner.

My mom's a flight attendant two cities over in Breton. She let us stay in Westbridge because of my scholarship and our friends here in the city. She usually doesn't come home until the middle of the night, if she decides to come home at all. She tries to sugarcoat it for me with the whole "I'm too tired to drive home so I'm staying with a friend" story, but I know my mother. The "friend" she's always referring to is one of her secret boyfriends she's too ashamed to tell me about. She's afraid it'll upset me, but it really doesn't. My father is out of our lives forever and Mom has a right to be happy. Plus, she's my mom. She's terrified of being alone, unlike me. Though, occasionally I wish there was _somebody_ to talk to, to eat with, to argue with over petty problems like boys and cell phones...

_You're a teenager with total freedom and practically your own place. Everybody you know is jealous of you. You could throw parties, get wasted, invite boys over, but all you want to do is study and pity yourself. You're pathetic. _

I tighten the grip on my pencil so hard, it snaps.

_I study so I won't be _like _my mother. I won't have some stupid job on a stupid plane for ten hours a day smiling and pretending my heels aren't killing me. I won't have to keep making up with my jerk of a boyfriend so I have a place to sleep at night. Because I didn't party like she did. I didn't drink like she did. I didn't get pregnant at 16 and ran away with a man like my father…_

Where is all this coming from?

I don't even realize that I'm shaking. I take a few deep breaths, push my homework aside, and fix up some leftover Chinese food. When I'm in the shower, the telephone goes off and I don't answer it. Once I get out, I wrap myself in a towel and look at myself in the mirror.

My dark eyes look back sarcastically. My parents both grew up in Washington on some Indian reservation. Though I've spent nearly my entire life in Westbridge, the Native American blood shines through me. I have well set cheekbones, long eyelashes, and russet colored skin. My thin black hair runs straight down my back, dripping on the bathroom floor. I can feel the heat my body is radiating off, because I'm almost dry. I should take some cold medicine and just give it a rest. Logarithms can wait until tomorrow morning.

There's a message on the answering machine.

"Hi baby. It's your mother. I just wanted to let you know I'm working late tonight. One of my girlfriends is letting my sleep on their couch, but I promise I'll be home early tomorrow. There's some extra cash in a jar above the-"

I can't even listen to it anymore. The trembling is starting up again in my body and I can't stop it. I'm just so _sick_ of this! I'm _sick _of being alone all the time! I'm _sick _of working my ass off while she's hanging out and having fun with some boyfriend! I'm _sick _of it!

_Maybe you're just sick…_

The fury has been building up so much inside of me, I have no way of calming myself down. My burning rage turns into black fear as I lose control of myself. Something's wrong. Something's really _really _wrong. My fever is rocketing. My blood is boiling. My heart's beating furiously against my chest, faster than humanly possible. I am blinded by the most searing pain I have ever felt in my life. It felts like I'm being torn into a million pieces.

And then it stops.


	2. Tap Your Paws 3 Times If You Believe

**Chapter Two-**

"Tap Your Paws Three Times If You Believe."

This chapters kind of slow…Chapter 3 will be more interesting I promise! Be patient.

I know what you're thinking. This is where the story gets juicy. I'll be all "OMG what's going on? What's happened to me! Why do I have the sudden urge to pee all over my living room carpet?" Pretty much. Yeah. Only the part about me peeing on the carpet part was sarcastic, so don't hold that against me. But I was freaking out. Big time. One minute I'm having some kind of temper tantrum and the next my heads pressed up against the ceiling and the floor is trembling, trying to contain my newly gained weight. My claws are scratching against the floor, and all that comes out of my mouth is this combination of a howl and a whimper. Good thing my neighbors are used to weird. We've got a tarot card reader upstairs and a fifty year old man with twenty tattoos and leather pants downstairs. They'll probably came up with some kind of explanation of their own. Possibly more bizarre than the truth.

Jumping back to the point, this wasn't a very good time for me, and I don't prefer to go into all those details of fear, confusion, and frustration. Once all that passed to the point that I was thinking coherently, I decide this "illness" was causing me to hallucinate. So, I try getting down on all…fours, and closed my eyes. I'd fall asleep and when I would wake up everything would go back to normal….you know, probably.

After an hour or so of deep breathing and happy thoughts, I drifted into a dreamless haze. Then, the next thing I knew, I was naked in my living room, the morning sun peeking through the curtains. Some glass litters the floor, some furniture is knocked over and so are some framed photos the landlord doesn't know we nailed to the wall. At first, it's easier to believe I had one bad fever and totally lost it, but there's one giant spot of evidence that, for a second, sets me on the fritz. The carpet is pushed aside to reveal one giant claw mark, much too big for a normal animal, especially an animal in Westridge….in a two bedroom apartment….on the seventh floor.

First, I grab some clothes and find a phone. My first instinct is to call the police, but then I remember something my very best friend, Toby, had done a report on for his seventh grade cultural studies project. Piecing it all together, it made sense, but it's something I was far from accepting as the truth. Still, with that thought in my mind, I can't bring myself to call the cops. I make some coffee with shaking hands, ignoring the fact that school had started two hours ago, and start up my computer. Toby wouldn't be online, but he had typed it up at my house. I skimmed through the files until I found the right dates I was looking for. Double clicking the document, it opens up and I read the assignment at least four times. At the top it reads:

Cultural Studies Research Paper

Directions: Find another student in the class to pair up with. You will be doing a research paper on that student's nationality and family background. Be as specific as you can. The sources of this assignment will come from your partner and his/her family as well as other books and websites you find…

I jump down to the rough draft Toby had typed beneath the directions. My mother didn't like talking about the reservation, but she was willing to help Toby after all he and his mother had done for us. One paragraph particular caught my eye and made my heart pound against my chest.

There are many legends among these people, but the most famous one of all is the story of the spirit warriors, which lead to the birth of men who could shape shift from man to wolf. The Spirit Warriors….

They say the wolf "gene" is passed on through each generation and takes effect when the cold-ones are near the land. They form when they are teenagers and turn into wolves when they lose their temper. They do not need a full moon to change like in common European folklore…

_No freakin' way. _This was all make-believe, legends, stories. This couldn't be real. Stuff like this just didn't happen to people, especially to people like me. I don't even like dogs! They keep you up a night with their barking and slobber all of you with the same tongues they use to lick their no-no parts.

Then why can't I shake off the premonition that this all made sense. I click out of the document and try to keep my thoughts from getting caught up in all this impossible yet totally sensible reasoning.

I take my mug and stare at the giant claw mark scraped against the wood floor. I replay what I could remember from yesterday over and over again in my head, trying to find something there I didn't see before. Something that would prove this whole "wolf theory" was a load of crap, but the more I try to over analyze all the facts, the less and less probable that seemed.

I give a weary sigh and washed my coffee mug in the sink. There was only one thing to do. The only thing I could do to settle this nonsense once and for all. To prove legends didn't really come true, and, though I hate myself for admitting it, keep the ones I love safe.

I mapquest the directions to La Push, Seattle, and called a taxi. I need the whole story, the one my mother would never tell me unless my best friend's history grade depended on it. Besides, apparently there's more to this than just some local legend. I had to attack the myth at it's source. If anyone was going to believe me, it'd be them.

I pull all the books out of my backpack and dump in my emergency fund, a few days worth of clothes, toiletries, some printed out brochures and maps of the area, the fake IDs Marco made me, and my cell phone. I effortlessly drag the rug back over the claw mark, and clean up the broken glass. The apartment looks relatively normal. I hear my cab roll up to the curb and honk for me from downstairs and scribble down a short, "Bus broke. Never made it to school. (if they call later) Sleeping Babybel's for the weekend. BIG project due. Low on milk. Call me. XOXO-the kid" on a post it note on the fridge. It sounds boring enough to keep me safe for awhile.

I throw a twenty at the cab driver so he doesn't stare too hard at my fake ID. The smell of his half-eaten Philly cheese steak and fake leather interior remind me how heightened my senses have been today. No normal person could hear a cab five blocks before it came to pick you up. I shiver in the realization that my palms, pricked and poked by the broken glass, were soft and smooth as they moisten against my jeans.

To keep myself productive, I start practicing logarithm problems on my laptop, email my boss that I'm calling in sick, which is technically true. After I've skimmed through a 250-page novel for English, I look out the window and realize there are more trees then people in Washington. Real trees. Real _giant_ trees! (Please excuse my fascination with the foliage…I'm a city girl.)

The cab rolls down a worn down path up to Reservation and I see the sun is setting. I haven't eaten anything all day. I pay the cab driver half of my savings, hope the other half will manage to get me home.

I take in a deep breath and take in the startlingly fresh air. There are lots of trees. No apartments. No city lights. No traffic lights. Nobody trying to sell me something illegal. No women in skimpy clothes. No loitering gangs. No weirdoes stumbling around. No…anything.

Okay, if I don't hear someone screaming at me to get out of the street, I'm about to have a cultural shock. Do I have to kill somebody for a little common discourtesy?

I start walking over to what appears to be the only store in town. I'm not joking, there's only ONE store in the whole place. I half expect to see a sign on the door that reads, "Sorry. The La Push has been abandoned due to boredom and the lack of a decent McDonalds." I stare nervously up at the fading light and dig into my backpack to see if there are any motels I could crash at.

That's when some jerk hits me with their truck.


	3. This Wonderland Sucks!

PS There was a typo in Chapter 2. I meant to put La Push, Washington, not La Push, Seattle. Teehee. Excuse my sucking at geography.

Chapter Three:

"I Must Have Hit My Head Falling Down the Rabbit Hole, Because This Wonderland Sucks!"

Maybe I shouldn't have come here. Maybe I shouldn't have been wandering around in the dark by myself. Maybe I shouldn't have been standing in the middle of the street. Maybe I should've been paying anything rather than trying to figure out an outdated map. Maybe I should've been more careful.

Well news flash, Conscience! The world is filled with more "maybe I shouldn't have"s and "maybe I should have"s then we're capable of counting. I am well aware of how our actions can result in fatal consequences that we can't take back. We wish we could, but wishing gets us nowhere. We just have to recognize our mistakes and learn how to deal with it.

But could you at least give us some kind of heads up when something this important comes barreling out of nowhere at **80 miles an hour! **

Stupid jerk.

I taste the asphalt road in my mouth. I'm sore all over. I think I'm seeing triple (It's hard to tell with all the trees.) which causes my stomach to start reeling. I groan and squeeze my eyes shut. My head is pounding and my ears are ringing in the aftershock, but I can still hear the frantic voices behind me.

"Aw crap! Aw _crap!_"

"Goddam it, Quil! What did you do!"

"Who is she? Is she dead?"

"Stupid! Why weren't you paying attention!"

"Shut up, Paul. We can kill him later. We gotta get her to a hospital or something."

"Oh my _God! _This _can not _be happening!"

"How fast were you going?"

"She landed on her head. Is she even breathing?"

"Can you all just _shut up!_" I hiss through my teeth. "Just calm down! I'm not dying or anything!" I clamp my hand protectively against my forehead, as I pull myself into a sitting position with the other. The aftermath left me with a killer headache and I feel fresh bruises down the sides of my arms. I turn around to glare at the three men gawking down at me, and I take the liberty of staring back.

First of all, they're the size of giants. Full-grown, totally buff giants. They're big enough to be bouncers or bodyguards or something. Secondly, they we're wearing no shirts. Or shoes. In the middle of March. In _Washington_. Really? What is up with these small town people?

I try to push myself onto my feet, but a massive hand keeps me from getting up. "Don't try to move anything. You might have broken something. You probably have a concussion too. Let us drive you to the hospital."

"I'm fine," I snap back, shoving his hand away. "Nothing is broken," I take a pause to test out all of my major limbs, and find everything in one piece. "I didn't hit the back of my head, so…I don't think I have a concussion. And even if I do have one, I should be on my feet." He objects, but I push myself into a standing position and wait for the world to stop swaying before I add, "I don't really feel like sitting around waiting for someone _else_ to run me over."

I know I'm being rude, but I'm certainly in no mood to be polite. On top of the whole being run over thing, I'm still scared, confused, and famished. I stumble over to my backpack, which has flown off the side of the road, and unfortunately had been unzipped when I pulled out the map. My stuff is scattered all over the street, and I begin shoving it all into my bag. At least my savings is still tucked away in my back pocket and my laptop is zipped up in its protective case.

"Are you _crazy_! You just got ran over my a _truck_ going like 90 miles an hour! You are _not _fine! You're lucky to be alive. You shouldn't even be able to walk!" From what I can gather of the previous conversation, the one giving me the lecture was Paul.

"Look, if you think I need a doctor," I thought about the headaches, the fevers, the hallucinations, and now this. Despite my purpose for coming here, maybe it was all just some weird illness. This would be a good time to find out, since I did hit my head pretty hard. I can't do logarithms when I'm in a coma, though I'm sure Mr. Hardy would find some way to make me. "then you can drive me _after_ I get something to eat. I'm kind of starving."

They all glance at one another before the one who had been driving, Quil, laughs and opens the passenger side of his truck.

"A hard-hitting girl with an appetite. I can respect that. Where to?"

"Umm…" Quil's carefree laugh reminds me of Marco and Twizler, which remind me of home. I listen to my grumbling stomach and think of Chichi's. "Promise you're not a bunch of psycho killers?"

"Almost positive," he grins.

"Well…Is there any Mexican food around here?"

Suddenly, there all laughing and I feel my cheeks go warm.

"Do we _look _Mexican to you? Chica, you're on the Rez. We've got a burger joint fifteen minutes from here. That okay?"

"Sure," I shrug. I'd eat bricks up to this point.

"Is it alright if we stop at my friend's house first? We were sort of heading over there before…this."

"Really? Look I appreciate it and everything but you don't have to go rearranging your plans-"

"Okay listen," the other boy interrupts "As tough as you say you are, were not leaving until we know you're not hurt. And the least we can do is let Quil buy you dinner. It's all his fault after all."

"Idiot," Paul growls.

"Fine, but next time you want to buy a girl dinner don't think this is gonna work the second time around."

Now he's smiling and we drive through the streetlamp-less town until we approach a red-painted house with a wheelchair ramp.

"Just wait here for a sec." Quil and the other boy climb out.

A couple silent minutes pass between me and Paul while I decide to check my phone. One message from my mom that reads, "got ur message. Have fun J," two from Babybel "y weren't u school today?" and "r u ok? Call me," and one from Marco's mother that reads, "get some rest sweetie. I'll take you off the schedule 'til u text me back. Call me on Monday about next week."

"Hey, do you mind if I try to get a signal outside? I need to call someone back."

Paul shrugs and I jump out of the truck. I spend a few more minutes holding my phone to the sky until I start to hear it ring a few times.

A 50 something year-old dude in a wheelchair comes rolling down the ramp and I'm guessing he lives here. When he sees me, he just stares and I hear nothing but the crickets and Babybel's voicemail.

"Who are you?" he says more as an accusation rather than a question. I hang up my cell and he's still staring at me when the boys come back outside with an angry, larger half-naked guy.

"Kiley Black from Westridge, California," I answer lamely, and shove my hands in my pockets.

Now everybody is gaping at me and we all just stand there awkwardly. Finally, the big angry guy speaks up.

"Dad, who is this?" he asks in an irritated tone.

"Are you Kyra's daughter?" asks the older man.

"Yeah, she grew up here with my Dad. Why? You knew her?"

"Knew her? She's my sister."

"That…can't be right. My mom never said she had a brother."

"Well I had no mind mentioning her much either."

"Dad? What's going on?" the big one blurts out, just as confused as I am.

"I'm Billy Black and this is my son, Jacob. Jake, this is your cousin."

"Cousins?" I echo, trying to contemplate what he's saying. That would mean we were related, which would mean my mother had deliberately been lying to me. What else was she hiding in this shoebox of a town?

"Come on in," Billy gestures to the house. "I'll prove it to you."


	4. My Mom Was Hot in High School & So Am I

Chapter Four- "My Mom was Hot in High School and So Am I."

I hesitate on the porch, but he doesn't stop to see if I'm following. The rest of the boys are waiting to see what I'll do, so I walk through the doorframe hesitantly and get a good look at the place.

The furniture is crammed tight together in the too small space, sort of like my apartment at home. The difference is our furniture isn't older than my mother, while others are new and totally out of place. A fifteen-inch screen sits awkwardly in the center of the room. An oak bookshelf jam-packed with think volumes, children's books, and random paperback novels is to my left and an antique lamp flickers on a cheap, generic stand to my right. Framed photos and washed out crayon cover the peeling wallpaper, and a lumpy beige couch sits under a loud shaggy carpet. The lack of a decent decorator and the smell of fish and pizza leftovers coming from the kitchen tells me this place has been lacking a woman's touch for quite awhile.

"It's…uh…nice. Is this where my mom grew up?" I ask trying to imagine my city-adjusted mother living here.

"Yep," Billy grunts, pulling a photo album off the shelf. Jacob stares down at me, six-foot something and intimidating, and gestures me to sit on the beat-up couch. If we're supposed to be rejoicing in some kind of long-lost-cousin reunion, we decide to pass…Thank God.

Billy wheels over and shows me a collection of photos that look like…well…me, if I decided to be the typical Westridge crowd. From what I can assume is my mother, she is in her mid-teens, with her hair in a wild mess of curls, heavy eyeliner, and dark lipstick. She's wearing super-short denim shorts, black combat boots, and a tied-up-at-the-stomach flannel shirt. A man with piercing dark eyes and a bad boy look (I'm guessing he's my dad) has his arms around my mom and is grinning wickedly at the camera.

_Jesus Christ! My mother was a slut! _

"This is the…um…the last picture we found of her before she…left," Billy explains, glancing up at me.

Now everybody has crowded around to see it, four teenage boys with wide-eyes and disbelief that _I'm_ related to _that_.

"Whoa…" Quil murmurs, "What a _babe_!" The nameless one shots him a I-can't-believe-you-just-said-that-out-loud look and Jacob smacks him in the arm. He doesn't have to though, I know they were all thinking it. _Ew. _

I slam the photo album shut. "Watch it, dude. That's my _mommy _you're talkin' about." I snap defensively as my cheeks turn hot. I turn to Billy, whose teeth are clenched together at Quil.

Eventually, Billy sighs and asks, "What are you doing here, Kiley?"

The question takes me aback because, truthfully, I don't know how to answer it. _Last night I had this crazy impression that I turned into a giant wolf in my living room and came here to find out if it's based on some random tribe legend my lying, wild-child mother told me. _Dream on.

But isn't that why I was here? God, how badly did I screw up? How much trouble am I in? God, I'm such a moron!

"Um…my Mom and I…uh…got in a fight…and….I…ran away. I needed to…blow off some steam." I'm a terrible liar. I'm tripping over my own tongue, and I can't face anyone in room. I hope they misinterpret my bad improvisation for shame.

"And you came _here_? California's like…what nine hours away?" Paul remarks.

I shrug my shoulders to buy myself time. "I…needed to think. To get away." My stomach starts nagging at me again, and it reminds me of how worn out I am. I'm not thinking straight. I stand up abruptly. "Look, not that I don't have questions, because believe me, _I do_, but I've got to…to…"

I feel myself sway and someone catching me before I fall.

"Dammit! I knew we should have gotten her to the hospital!"

"A hospital? What are you talking about?"

"We picked her up down at the back road. Quil hit her with his car."

"You ran over my _cousin_! Quil!"

"I didn't mean to okay! It was an accident."

"Boys, just calm down. Someone just get her to a doctor."

"I'll do it!"

"Fat chance. You're the whole reason we're in this stupid mess. Get her in the back. Gimme your keys."

There was a pause as Quil reluctantly surrenders his keys and scoops me up in his massive arms. I didn't have the strength to open my eyes, but I can feel the vibrations of the backseat as we drive off the Reservation. I pass out about halfway through the trip.

I blink away the sleep from my eyes and stare at the white ceiling. There is a soft, quickly-paced beeping beside me, too fast to be a human's heart monitor. My surroundings aren't too surprising. I'd been in the hospital a few times, and I didn't feel like I'd been asleep for more than an hour. They still managed to dress me in a flimsy hospital gown of course, stupid things. Is it really that difficult to make a dress that doesn't expose my ass? Medical technology has only come so far…

There's a ham sandwich and some milk on a tray at the foot of my bed and I don't hesitate. I can't say it's good exactly, but it's enough to start licking the plate before I realize I've been a vegetarian for the past six months.

There's some really god-awful smell in the air and my nose pinches in disgust. Weren't hospitals supposed to be all sterile and clean?

An unbelievably gorgeous doctor strolls gracefully though the curtain, and I get the doubtful conclusion that I'm dreaming. No one is _that_ hot. Ever. I get a fresh whiff of that horrible smell and my nose starts burning.

The doctor doesn't need a clipboard to know who I am. He begins with a relieved sigh, as if I've been in a lot of trouble but thank-goddess I'm okay, which frankly sums it up pretty well. "Miss Black, I don't think I've ever had the pleasure of meeting you before today. I'm Dr. Cullen."

"I-I'm new. Very new." I choke out.

His smile is too perfect.

"There's need to worry. You we're just suffering from some malnourishment. We injected you with a few supplements to boost you're immunity. Just try to drink plenty of fluids and get the recommended amounts of calories you need."

"Thanks," I reply, trying to ignore the stench wafting through my room. Dear Lord. …

"You are feel to spend the night if you'd prefer. We don't have your parents on any record here in the hospital, so we haven't been able to contact them, but Billy has agreed to sign you out once you feel well enough."

I weigh down the options to an extent. I don't know what medical insurance I have, and this overnight visit is sure to be pricey. On the other hand there's no doubt Billy will insist I call my mom if I let him sign me out. The wrath of my mother seems to cancel out any potential trouble I may have screwed myself over with. At least I'll have time to think about my next move.

I lean against the pillows and happily agree with myself. I've had a fun-filled day of hallucinations, car accidents, and newly discovered family members. I deserve eight hours of peace. Maybe while I'm at this bad girl streak, I'll jump out the bathroom window and skip town tomorrow.

"I think I'll sleep awhile. If you don't mind."

"Of course not. Would you like us to call your parents for you?"

"**No**…no thanks. I'll do it," I stammer. There was no way _that _was ever happening.

He smiles at me again and eyes the door. "Excuse me while I talk to your uncle for a moment."

He disappears around the curtain and note that I can still hear his footsteps echoing against the tile floor. My heightened senses are still there. Between all the worry that's been racking through my brain, I never thought about using them to my advantage. I focus on the doctor's footsteps with ease.

He stops.

"How's Kiley? Is she alright?" Billy's gruff voice asks the doctor, stiff and cold. Someone must have drove him into town.

"She seems…quite healthy. I'm sure she'll recover quickly," Dr. Cullen explains with difficulty behind his soothing voice. "Do you mind if we talk in my office…privately. All of you."

A series of footsteps head further down the hall, and I have no problem keeping up. I don't know if it's the shock of being ran over or what but I don't stop listening, despite the fact that I should be in complete freak-out-mode.

I hear a door close softly and Billy's demanding voice. "What is it, Cullen?"

"I don't know exactly how to put this, Billy, but I'm hoping you'll have some sort of theory."

"What's wrong with Kiley? I thought you said she was fine." one of the boys claims.

"I don't believe she's sick or injured," Cullen clarifies.

Then what's wrong with me? Why could I hear him admitting this across the building? A pit forms in the bottom of my stomach. Bad news is coming.

"What's the problem then?" Quil asks, frustrated.

"I ran her temperature….it read…113 degrees."

There's a silence in the room and I touch my forehead with my ice-cold hands. I feel normal, but that can't be right. I'm supposed to be dead. This _better_ not be some kind of out-of-body experience. How am I supposed to get those stupid logarithms done!

"That's…not possible," nameless boy whispers.

"You did say she was hit by a car. I found no traces of an accident, or a head injury for that matter. This could very much be exactly what it looks like."

"That doesn't make any sense! That would mean…"

"I ran some tests," the doctor informs them. Blood, heart rate, everything. She fainted from malnourishment because she was burning off a massive amount of energy with nothing to fuel it."

"But she's a girl! She…is a girl…right?"

_Yes! _

"According to my analysis she seems to be a perfectly healthy natural-born female."

"I'll contact the elders," Billy tell them before I hear the door shut again.

"What do you think, Doc?" Quil asks, sounding very tired.

"I think these are more than just pre-transformation symptoms. Her body seems well adjusted. If this is what it looks like…I believe she may have already…shifted…at least once. Sorry, but I have to tend to another patient now. She's in room 512 if you'd like to discuss this with her. I bet she's feeling very confused."

Well no duh I'm confused! What's wrong with me! What are they keeping from me!

My hands start shaking and I remember what Cullen said. _"…shifted…at least once." _My shaking stops, and my heart sinks to the bottom of my chest. The wolf in my living room. It wasn't a dream, and they somehow know what's going on. So maybe the legend _is _true! Maybe-

I eye the heart monitor next to me, and realize that the too-fast heartbeat is connected to my pulse.

I was so lost in my inner thoughts, I don't realize Quil and the nameless one peek into my room.

"Come in," I say, sounding nauseated. I feel like I'm about to hurl. I eye the trashcan across the room with the doubt that I might need it.

"Hey. you feeling better?" Quil asks nervously. He can't seem to look at me, while his friend is staring straight at me.

_Not at all. _"Yeah, thanks for asking," I reply, a hint of sarcasm making it's way through my voice.

There's another long pause and when I don't think there going to say anything, I speak without thinking.

"Look. I don't know what's going on here, and frankly, I'm not okay with that. Now I know one of you knows something. I walk away from a car accident without a dent, my temperature says I'm not supposed to be alive, and there's a giant claw mark in my living room that I have no explanation for. Tell me that's not sketchy. What's. Going. On?"

"Okay…so maybe the doctor was on to something here…" Quil says more to himself than to me.

"_Really_?" the nameless one barks at him.

Quil sighs and pulls out a cell phone that looks way to small in his giant hands. "Yo, Sam…uh, yeah, that's a good question. Embry and I are at the hospital…I uh…well don't get mad okay…I got into a little accident…that's not why I'm calling…she's fine…well sort of not fine…well um…It's not my fault! She was just standing there!…okay, I'm an idiot. We already figured that out. That's not why I'm calling okay…we need to meet you right away…because it's important….no, Sam, it can't wait until tomorrow…it's big…No, just the guys…okay…meet you there in twenty…okay…bye."

"Get dressed. Billy's gonna sign you out," Embry orders, picks up my clothes from a chair across the room, and tosses them to me. I nod and they just stand there…

"Uh…do you mind?"

They seem to understand at the same time and close the door behind them, flushing. I roll my eyes, in the face of all the craziness going on around me. _Boys. _


	5. She Who Runs Away!

Chapter Five- "She-Who-Runs-With-Wolves?" How About "She-Who-Runs-AWAY"?

I meet them in the hospital lobby, and the next thing I know they're practically picking me up and dragging me out of the place. I don't know what I did exactly that set them off in full-out panic mode. Maybe they think I'm some kind of loon and they plan on shipping me off to some "nice place" where they'll "take care of me." That wouldn't fly well with scholarship sponsors. I don't think that's their intentions, though. They've only known me for a few hours, and not under the best circumstances to question my sanity.

They nearly throw me into the back seat, while I wonder where the hell that charming small town hospitality is supposed to be, and they're driving seventy miles an hour back to the Reservation. Embry puts the car in neutral when we stop at Billy's house and Quil helps Billy into his chair and up the ramp. Before I even have time to ask where were going, Quil jumps in and we're off again.

Embry goes off road and parks in front of a forest that looks more like a storybook picture than an actual place. Embry comes around and opens the door for me, I hop down, and I feel shivers down my spine.

_You wanted to find out the truth, didn't you? _My mind mocks against my better judgment, which is to get out of here. Now.

"Wait…we're going in _there_?" I ask skeptically, as they start making their way into the darkness of the woods.

"Yeah…" Quil responds, as if he's trying to come up with some reason this is all just perfectly fine.

"Are you _crazy_? What if something…like…eats us?" I've never been the outdoorsy type, living in a city my entire life, but I don't think it's very reassuring when they start laughing at me.

By now, I'm fed up with all the cryptic crap. "What's so funny?" I scorn and Quil shakes his head at me, trying to suppress a smile.

"Don't worry about it," Quil replies, "That's not gonna happen. C'mon. It's no big deal."

"Then what _is _the deal? Why are we here? What's going on?"

"Relax. We'll show you."

They start walking forward and, though all the nerve in my body is telling me to run, I follow. I jump at everything, a squirrel darting across the forest floor, an owl's hoot in the distance, a bird flapping it's wings above us, and when I hear a wolf's howl, I nearly faint where I'm standing. How on Earth do people do this for fun?

Eventually, we go so far out, I'm not sure I'd be able to find my way out if I tried, and my Westridge kid instincts begin to kick in. I'm in the dark with two giant, teenage boys where no one could hear my cries for help.

Oh, _God! _What have I gotten myself into!

When I see my cousin and four more overly-muscular young men coming out of the shadows, surrounding me, I feel my adrenaline pumping. One of the bigger ones steps forward and I see a way to escape. If I could only make my way around the man approaching me, I'd be free.

Instead of speaking to me, he addresses Quil, his face hard and almost irritated. "What is the meaning of this, Quil?" I can barely hear him with my heart hammering in my ears.

"Well…there are a couple of things actually…" he begins his voice unsure. "We're not exactly sure but the bloodsucker at the hospital s-"

"Why should we believe anything he says?" an angry voice, that I recognized as Paul, exclaimed.

Bloodsucker? What is that supposed to mean? Were they talking about the doctor?

"Because we don't think he's lying, Sam," Embry replies, rushing to Quil's defense. "Nobody just walks away from an accident like that."

"She didn't. She passed out in my living room!" Jake growls threateningly to my right. I don't know where they're going with this, but I don't care to stick around and find out.

"That's exactly what we're talking about!" I throw my leg back. "There wasn't a scratch on her! It was because-" Embry stops midsentence.

A pained sound erupts from Sam's throat and he hunches over. I maneuver around him and make a blind sprint through the woods. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm so hyped up I'm not thinking. I just have to find my way back to town, magically find a cab, and get my ass back where I belong. What was I thinking? I should never have come here. This whole plan was nuts to begin with!

"Wait! Stop!" one of them hollers after me. They're chasing me now, coming up close, but not close enough. I speed up with no difficulty, dodging every tree with miraculous ease. When I begin to hear cars zooming down the highway, I wonder how fast I've been running, but I don't have long.

I hear the sound of something very heavy hitting the earth and a monstrous growl. I look back for one second to see an enormous gray wolf reaching up to me with its giant strides, and my jaw goes slack. A bizarre, calm part of my mind remembers what Quil had said about something eating me, and I fight back a hysterical wave of laughter.

Still running for my life, I stare into the monster's eyes and they seem almost…worried. Like they're human. I've seen those eyes before.

All the pieces come crashing down on me, which makes me stumble as I dash closer to the highway. The legends we're true. Embry is a wolf and that means…

This is the last chance to save myself, and that's all I allow myself to think about. What triggered it the last time? It was something about my mom. I was angry with her. I have to get mad, and I have to do it fast. If I don't, I'm never going to make it to the road.

I know exactly what gets my blood boiling, and I've pushed it so far back into my head over the years, it gives me exactly the kind of edge I need. My anger builds over the fear that's choking me, and I feel myself trembling as I run. My heart's pounding faster and faster. I lose my footing as my body struggles to hold itself together, but there is no pain this time when I transform.

A menacing growl escapes my throat as I come nearly nose to nose with Embry. I'm smaller than him, but I'm still much bigger than I would've been otherwise. I feel my claws scraping against the dirt and the bristles on the back standing up. My teeth are bared at him, and it seems to have the effect I want. He steps down.

_What the hell! _Paul's voice echoes through my mind. I hear a whimper escape my teeth.

Where had _that_ come from!

_ We were trying to tell you! _Quil's voice retorts, almost smug with himself.

_Who is she? _Another voice demands.

_This is impossible! _Someone shouts.

_She's a girl! _A voice that sounds like Jacob adds.

_Lay off, you guys! _Embry's voice interrupts. _Can't you see your scaring her! _

I try to keep myself tensed for an attack, but I feel myself rolling my eyes in resignation.

_Great_, I think to myself. _I've officially lost my mind. _

_ You're not crazy,_ Embry relies.

_Says the voice inside my head, _I counter back, and I earn a few snickers among the others.

_No. Look, _Embry insists, and I see. I see him last winter. I see him having a fight with his mother about forgetting to clean his room. I see him tremble, smash a vase, and slam the door violently behind him. I see Paul and someone else drag him out into the woods, and watch him transform into a giant wolf. I feel his confusion and his fear. I hear Sam tell him the secret of the tribe, the protectors of the village. I hear about how vampires really exist, and the pack's job to destroy any trespassers on their land. I hear Sam's order to tell no one, even his mom and best friends. I see the dangers of being around humans, and the price Sam paid.

Everyone throws their own stories into the mix, and when it's over, I'm not so freaked anymore. Don't get me wrong. I'm still in shock from the whole "I'm a werewolf" thing, but at least I know the truth now, and how can I not believe it. They're literally handing me their firsthand memories, whether they want to or not.

As the first traces of sunlight lighten the night sky, I begin to feel the exhaustion I'd been feeling at the hospital. I feel my human hands against the muddy earth and smile when I grasp that I'm my old fur-free self again. Then I remember I'm surrounded by seven boys, and I'm butt naked.


	6. Werewolves Exist, Why Not Sea Monsters?

Chapter Six-"If Werewolves and Vampires Exist, Why Shouldn't Sea Monsters?"

As you may have already guessed, I've made quite a first impression. Between lowering Sam's chances of having little freaky child-puppies or accidently proving to the entire pack that I am, in fact, a girl, the last thing I want to do is face any of them right now. But here I am, sitting in Sam Uley's kitchen, redder than the wax apples in a bowl on her kitchen table.

Thank God I had brought some extra clothes. I ripped my own clothes (which included my favorite weekend jeans!) to shreds and the boys were only carrying shorts. Thank God twice none of them offered to spare their only article of clothing for me, the only thing more humiliating then them seeing _me_ naked. I dodged behind a tree, fighting the waves of humiliation, and took the backpack they tossed my way with shaky hands.

We walked silently back to Uley's house, the sun bright in the sky by the time we returned. Emily didn't really know what was going on, but she already had a mountain of pancakes set up for us when we got back. I almost experienced cultural shock twice. A woman. In a dress. Making pancakes. In the kitchen. My mother's version of cooking breakfast would be throwing a bagel at me as I'm walking out the door, and the closest thing to homemade pancakes is a takeout box at McDonalds. As if I don't have enough to worry about, now I have freakin' Martha Stewart making me breakfast and I have no idea if I should just sit there or offer to do the dishes.

Sam introduces the pack to me. Most of them, I already met. The others are Jared and Seth, who's the youngest.

I catch everyone making glances at me, some more deliberate than others. The only two who seem to be comfortable with it are Sam and Jared. Sam looks older than me, plus he's engaged, so I can understand that, but I expected less from Jared. So far, I like him best.

Sam leaves to talk to the "elders," whoever they are. Jake, Jared, and Seth go patrol the forest. It's a basic routine, apparently. No biggy. As if I'll ever really be cool with this. Quil and Paul go get some sleep. Between running me over and taking me to the hospital, it's been a _very _exhausting day for them. Boohoo. Embry offers to show me around the place before school, and, since no one's offered me a place to catnap, I decide it'll pass the time.

I make myself some coffee, under the protests of Emily. No offense to her or anything, but I bet even Miss Martha Stewart can brew up coffee the way I like it.

After chugging down my second mug, I follow Embry as he shows me their cute little excuse for a town. One convenience store, a school the size our library, a tourist shop, a diner, a nine-bedroom inn, a library, an old music shop, and a clothing store are all they have to show for it. Apparently if you need a doctor, a mechanic, or anything relatively important, you go into Forks. Adorable. I swear, I made a bigger town in preschool out of play dough and chewed up blocks.

He's lived on the Rez his entire life and doesn't realize how incredibly bizarre this whole place is to me, their deep dark tribe secrets aside. As he talks me through the tour, he tries not to look at me much, which is fine with me, but he seems friendly enough. He describes it as if it's one giant family, pointing out who lives where, who runs what, and sometimes throws in some out of the ordinary information. When he does, his dark eyes seem to brighten and he smiles.

It doesn't take me long to realize that he's got a nice smile. It's warm and natural, like a fresh Toll House cookie after walking six blocks through sleet to get, the kind where you can split it down the middle and see the melted chocolate chips. It's one thing I like here versus the fifty-nine things I don't.

The most exciting part of the trip, however, is the beach. I've only seen pictures of beaches in books or on TV, and the only time I've ever been a pool of water bigger than my bathtub was the community pool at the Y. My new senses enhance the experience. Seagulls fly in circles above me and the black waves roll calmly up the rocky shore.

"So this is the beach. A few blocks down from here, there's a surf shop, but that's mostly for the tourists we get around the summer. The locals tend to hang out here….what are you looking at?"

I shrug at him. I guess he caught me staring longer than I should. "Everything," I reply. "I'm not used to this kind of thing back home. It's sort of…cool."

"This kind of thing? Aren't you from California?" His tone is doubtful.

"We're not along the coastline. It's mostly just asphalt and concrete, unless you live on the south side of town."

"What's on the south side?"

"Plastic grass," I answer with a smirk.

He barks out a laugh. "Wow. So that's what the cities like, huh?"

"Well, that's Westridge."

"Sound's pretty weird."

I whip my head around to make a face at him. "Weird? May I remind you that there are bloody _werewolves_ patrolling the town's borders for _vampires _as we speak?"

He considers this for a moment. "True."

We walk down to the beach, and I feel the way my shoes sink into the sand. Embry starts laughing at me.

"Just take your shoes off," he insists. I'm hesitant, but since werewolves apparently can't catch colds, I decide why not. I run my toes through the sand. It's dry and squishy, like the sandbox Toby and I used to play in. When we get to the water, I know I've really made his day.

"Really?" he asks skeptically. "You're afraid of a little water?"

"I'm not afraid," I answer defiantly, my cheeks turning hot. I hope he doesn't recognize the building color in my cheeks, but since he's only a few feet away, he probably does.

"Then what's the matter? You've been swimming before, haven't you?"

"Of course I've swam before!" I retort, which isn't technically a lie. I did, when I was four, and I had floaties.

"Then get your little butt over here and show me."

When he mentions my butt, my cheeks get hotter, but I don't move my feet. I cock my head to the side. "How do I know the Loch Ness Monster isn't swimming around in there?"

Embry rolls his eyes at me. "Don't be ridiculous. Everybody knows a werewolf could totally take down a sea monster."

"I'm not wearing a bathing suit," I come back with, staring down at my rolled up jeans and T-shirt.

He gives an exasperated sigh, walks over to me, and shockingly, hoists me up over his shoulder. "This is ridiculous," I hear him mutter and he starts pacing down to the water. My cheeks are on fire now. I'm kicking and throwing punches at his back, but he doesn't notice or he doesn't show it. We're a good four feet out, which a few inches over his waist, when he stops. My heart freezes.

"Now all you gotta do is kick your legs, okay. Take a deep breath and hold it. You're gonna be fine."

"Go to hell," I yell at him as I'm clinging to his back for dear life. I'm staring wide-eyed at the black water below and I swallow.

He pries me off him and tosses me into the water. I'm in midflight for one whole second before I hit the water below. I start thrashing around wildly before I realize I can stand up. I choke and gasp due to the giant amount of seawater I just inhaled.

"I told you to hold your breath," he replies, a wicked grin on his face. I push my dripping hair back from my face to glare at him. "It's official."

"What's official?"

"I like Quil better than you."

He smiles again, takes my hand, and helps me back to shore. That's when the cell phone by my left shoe rings, and Embry answers.

"Hey, Sam….Yeah. She's with me…Okay…Bye."

"What now?" I ask, almost annoyed. I ring my hair out and slip my shoes on, even if my feet are now covered in sand.

"That was Sam," Well duh. "He wants us to meet him at Billy's house. He found a room for you."


	7. Werewolves Aren't Socially Acceptable

Chapter Seven-

"Because Randomly Transforming into a Wolf is Not Socially Acceptable in Most Places"

Alright, I would just like to point out now that I have had my fair share of unpleasant surprises for one week. For starters, I have a logarithm test on Monday that I'm definitely unprepared for. Secondly, the landlord's gonna kill us when he sees the giant claw mark on our floor. There's also the whole car accident thing, my secret relatives, homemade pancakes, and the recent discovery that werewolves are not genetically programmed to do the doggy paddle. And let's not forget that I turn into a colossal wolf every time I get angry. Isn't that enough to stand for one weekend? Don't I get some kind of break? Apparently not.

"_What_?" I gawk at Sam in disbelief. We're in Billy's living room, and he and Sam are both looking back at me with stony expressions. At first, I'm too shocked to be mad. He can't be serious. Out of all the unbelievable things I've heard, this has to be the craziest.

"You want me to move_… here_?" I repeat skeptically.

Sam's hard-masked expression fades, and I can see how unhappy he is. He obviously doesn't want to put me through this. Why would he? We didn't exactly meet on friendly terms. He probably wants me gone just as much as I'd like to be, but this is his responsibility. He's the Alpha. I already figured that out.

But I didn't know this whole "pack" thing included_ me_ or that "crusher of childhood dreams" was part of the job description.

He lets out a tired breath I didn't know he was holding and turns to Billy.

"Billy, can you give us a minute alone please?"

My uncle eyes me with a look that says "You get angry and tear up my house, you're gonna have hell to pay." And despite the fact that I'm a flesh-tearing wolf and he's a handicapped old man, I have no doubt in my mind I'd be sorry if I did. On the plus side, if I managed to destroy the house bad enough, I probably wouldn't have in live in it, but I could never do that…

Stupid Conscience.

He wheels himself outside, and it's just me and Sam. He goes over it again, hoping I'll take this more seriously than the first time. His voice is firm and emotionless.

"We can't allow you to go back to California. You're moving to La Push as soon as possible. Billy has agreed that you can stay in his daughters' old bedroom. You're transferring to tribal school on the Reservation, so you can finish up high school. That's solely to keep up appearances. Just focus on controlling your temper and not drawing any attention to yourself. Get used to the pack, because they're all you're going to see for awhile. You will not associate with any humans for at least another year or so."

He makes it sound so simple. Leave the only home I've ever known. Leave my mother and my best friends. Alex. Marco. Twizler. Ronnie. Babybel. _Toby. _Quit my job and forget my once-in-a-lifetime scholarship at Evanburrow Prep. All the summer courses and studying I put into passing that stupid entrance exam. All for nothing? The graffiti-covered skate park. The beat-up bowling alley with the really good french-fries. The homeless guy who throws pennies at me as I'm waiting for the bus. Just forget it all and move to a horror movie version of goddam Pleasantville. I don't think so!

"It's not just for your own good, Kiley. It's for the people you care about," Sam begins, and goes into this sad little speech about protecting the ones around me.

In retrospect, I am aware you don't care exactly what he said, but you can get the general gist of this little tear-jerking moment. He's all, "You've gotta do the right thing." And I'm thinking, "Poor me. My life is over. Blah Blah Blah," but I know I have to make this sacrifice for my family and friends. However, just because I agree with him doesn't mean I like it. Seriously, I don't know you personally or anything, but if someone told you to pack up and leave behind everything you care about (yes, even your beloved homeless guy) you'd be pissed too.

My hands are balled up into fists to keep them from shaking, and, surprisingly enough, I'm fighting back tears in my eyes. I won't let him see me cry though. Even if it's not his fault, I can't help feeling he's taken enough from me in one day.

Call me a diva or whatever, but I storm out of the living room while he's in mid sentence and slam the screen door behind me. I get a few meters before I realize I'm starving. I hesitate on the porch, waiting for hunger or dignity to weigh out. Against my pride, I stomp back into the house with as much force as I can muster and make myself a sandwich. Hey, just because I'm fuming doesn't mean I've gotta be hungry too.

I dig into the fridge and yank out some bread and cheese like it's nobody business. I don't bother to see how Sam reacts to it. The cheese hits the bread with a hard _slap_, I take my sandwich, and I reenact my little dramatic exit.

I finish the sandwich in five giant bites and it still isn't enough. Damn. I wonder what the "recommended amount of calories" is for the average werewolf chick. It's not exactly something you can google. The guys didn't seem to have any problem swallowing ten pancakes in one sitting. Poor Miss Martha Stewart must be slaving over a hot stove 24-7.

I'm in the woods before I even notice I'm walking in that direction, which is good. I need some time to myself. I still haven't wrapped my head around it all yet. The woods, that had seemed so scary last night, turns out to be much more peaceful now. It's not quiet exactly. I can hear everything within a five mile radius. But they're not the kind of noises I'm used to. Car horns. Police sirens. Construction. Too-loud drunks stumbling around. The sound of birds chirping, running water, and rustling leaves are almost kind of nice.

I follow the sound of running water and pick out a moss-covered tree along the stream. I sit against its trunk and wrap my arms around my knees. It's surrounded by wild berry bushes, so I'm invisible to anyone coming up the trail. I drop my head in exhaustion.

_What am I going to do? _I groan internally.

I'm a freak. Okay, not a real shocker there. I've never been Miss Popularity anyway. Now I'm just a furry freak with claws and a tail. I can handle that.

Moving to La Push. Bigger problem. Without even realizing it, I've already decided to stay. As if I had a choice to begin with. So the real issue is coming up with a story. I use my unimaginative thought process to the best of my ability, but eventually sleep wins and I decide, while I'm hidden, might as well get some shuteye.

I drift into consciousness by the sound of two voices nearby.

"… does she think happened?"

"She thinks Billy called her. Some family emergency. I don't know." Paul.

"And she came to the rescue?"

"More like Kiley was mad at her for not mentioning Billy and Jake all this time."

"Seems a little farfetched. Don't ya think?" The other voice sounded kinda like Jared.

"It's enough to keep our cover. Can ya smell that? She's close."

I hear the sound of leaves crunch under something heavy, and big, hard hands start shaking me.

"C'mon, Sleeping Beauty," Paul's sarcastic voice grumbles. "Time to get up."

"But it's Saturday," I moan, wondering what Paul's doing in my bedroom.

"Wake up," he sings through clenched teeth. He shakes me harder, but not enough to hurt me.

"I don't wanna," I whine like a five year-old and squeeze my eyes tight.

"Okay. Forget this," Paul snarls and tries slapping me awake.

Then I feel the sting of _my_ hand against Paul's face.

"_Ouch!_"

My eyes fly open. There's a pink mark on Paul's left cheek, fading fast, and he's got a sneering expression his face. That's when my brain starts working again and I understand that I just struck the boy across the face.

Here's the thing. I've mentioned already I'm far from being a violent person, right? That's still true. However, waking me up is another story. Why do you think I drink so much coffee? I should have a warning label on my backside between the hours of 4am and 7am. Something like "Warning: If you are tired of having all your fingers attached, feel free to repeatedly poke until woken up."

"Didn't you're mother ever tell you not hit girls?" I growl at him. He starts shaking fiercely and, without a word, tramples angrily through the berry bushes. I hear the sound of him transforming and I let out a surrendering sigh.

_Way to go, girl. Now Sam _and _Paul hate you. Keep it up and you're gonna need a goldfish or something. _

I rub my eyes and the sound of Jared's laughing causes me to look up.

"Nice backhand," he comments, a grin on his face. "That kid needs to get smacked around every so often. There's only so much a pack can take."

I blink the last of the sleep from my eyes and give him a sheepish grin. I always knew I liked him.

"Here, you've got leaves stuck to your back. Lemme help you," he offers as he hoists me to my feet. "It's getting late. They want you back at the house."

He starts picking them off before I can say anything. When he gets further down my lower back I start to blush, but he doesn't seem to notice anything's wrong. Like I was his little sister or something. That's when something dawns on me. It comes out before I think twice about it.

"Jared, are you gay?"

He stops what he's doing to get a good look at me. His eye brows are crunched together in confusion, and my face is flushed in embarrassment.

"No," he answers in a one-hundred-percent certain tone of voice.

"Oh," I reply lamely, brushing the rest of the leaves off myself, so I don't have to face him. I go around him, start heading down the trail, and he walks awkwardly beside me with his longer strides.

_That's three in row! You've gotta hold some kind of world record by now! _

"Why would you think that?" He finally asks, breaking the silence.

"I…uh….it's just that….well…it doesn't really matter…" I stammer.

"Go on." He almost sounds amused, and this throws me off.

"Well…you weren't…._looking_ at me the same way the other boys were at breakfast…" His puzzled face tells me he's not getting it.

"After I…shifted back…into a girl…and…just now…you were…"

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Kiley…um...don't get me wrong or anything…it's not that you're…_unattractive_ or anything…," he's rubbing the back of his neck, staring deliberately at the trail in front of us, and I'm cursing myself out in a million different ways. Why did I have to open my big mouth? I didn't want to be having this conversation. But it isn't what I expect.

Instead, I learn about the magical world of imprinting. Pretty much, it's this whole "love at first sight" thing and this entire lovey-dovey soul mate crap that most people don't believe in anymore. Why? Because it's all over-exaggerated by the hallmark industry to sell more junk on Valentine's Day and encouraged by lonely forty year-old cat ladies who want, but don't have, a man in their lives. Like werewolves and vampires, I thought "true love" was generally in the make believe section of the reality department. But, of course, it exists, along with everything else.

It's not the way that this poor guy goes on and on about this Kim chick. It's the flat-out adoration in his eyes that I have never seen on any male before while talking about his girlfriend. So there's another thing I get to look forward to while being a werewolf: Eternal love.

Gag me.

And just when my day couldn't get any better, it does.

As we get in eye-sight of Billy's house, I see the scariest, most heart-stopping thing I've had to deal with since I've gotten here, and I almost go sprinting in the other direction. It's there on the porch, arms crossed, with the most bloodthirsty expression I've ever seen before in my life.

My mom.


	8. Blame it on the Dog Oh, Wait That's Me

~Sorry it took so long to be posted. There was thanksgiving and then the all-the-work-you-have-to-make-up-because-of-the-break stuff. Hope you had a stupendous thanksgiving and a glorious Black Friday too. Thanks for all the positive comments by the way…and anyone who has read this far! You (yes you) are awesome! ~

Chapter Eight- "Blame it on the Dog. Oh, Wait. That's Me."

"Mom? W-what are you doing here?" I manage to choke out as Jared half-drags me to the front porch or, in better words, my ultimate doom. He suddenly isn't my favorite person anymore.

"Kiley Arianna Jay Black, I don't even know where to _begin _with you. I swore I'd never set foot in this town again, but here I am. Because my lying, school-skipping daughter decided she'd rather spend her day on a little field trip to Washington and scare her mother half to death. What the hell you were thinking! I mean, having you _exorcised_ doesn't sound like a bad idea right about now. You can't even imagine how furious I am that you'd pull something like this!"

So I'm a tad in over my head at the moment. If exorcism is on the table, a psychiatric ward seemed like a pretty reasonable solution if I told her I something like, "When I get mad, I shift into a wolf the size of a bear. I found this out when I was hit by a car and fell on my head. I'm totally fine though…

Yeah, we fight vampires. Except the ones that live in town and pretend to be normal high school students. Apparently they don't find drinking their classmates very nice. The doctor's one too. Ironic huh? When we're hunting down the evil vamps I can read minds with a bunch of other teen werewolf freaks. Good news. They're all boys! And they've all seen me naked too! Like mother like daughter!"

As fun as a padded cell and a straight jacket sound, I couldn't tell her even if I wanted to. So, why don't we rewind the two hours of motherly ranting and skip to the almost-not-bad alternative story Billy came up with.

Around six in the morning, I drag my sorry ass out of bed and get a call from some man claiming to be my Uncle. Apparently, he had been looking for his sister for the past seventeen years and, at long last, found out where she lived! He was so happy he'd found her, but there was some kind of family crisis. Poor Jacob was in some kind of accident about a month ago and was in a coma. Never having the chance to know my cousin, I raced over as fast as I could to see him. I didn't tell my mother because I was too scared for Jake to think straight and angry because she never told me about him. Billy offered me to stay the weekend. Amazingly, the next day, Jake recovered! Billy has some kind of superstition that I'm "lucky" and wants me to spend the rest of the school year here. It appears that I'm totally thrilled about getting to know my family and my "rich culture heritage" that I couldn't care less about.

The hard part of it all was bailing out on my scholarship. Even my mom couldn't believe I'd willingly let down my exclusive private school education down for the wondrous opportunities tribal school has to offer. Through clenched teeth, I had to talk her into believing I could take all my Evanburrow Prep courses online on top of tribal school.

This didn't get me off the hook though. Not a chance. Couldn't my mom be like every other parent and ground me? Take away my cell phone? No allowance? Chinese water torture? No. I go around the back of the house and see my skateboard, snapped in two, fueling a nice, strong campfire while I just stand there, open-mouthed. My mom replies with a "You can put the fire out with your tears," roasts a marshmallow, pops it in her mouth, and walks away in her four-inch stilettos.

Lesson learned. Fire beats skateboard. And Sam is gonna have hell to pay.

As for telling my friends, I needed an answer that was actually realistic. Me giving a damn about my "family heritage" was less likely than me being human trafficked to Saudi Arabia and becoming the head mistress for some sixty year old dude with a name I couldn't pronounce. Instead, I say what every Westridge kid would say. My mom got busted by the social workers for child neglect and my mom's sending me to live with my stay-at-home uncle for six months until the po-po get off her case. It had already happened to Ronnie and Twizler like fifteen times, so nobody thought to ask questions. Yay for living in a city full of lazy parents.

Two days later, a moving truck is parked in front of Billy's house with all my possessions. Tears almost spring up in my eyes when I see my own mattress again.

Remember what I said about that house being a total man cave? I didn't. Well, it is. I swear, Billy almost picked up his shotgun on the first night and put me out of my misery. Spiders all over the place. It appears that the smell of rotting pizza and fish brings the freaky the little critters crawling. It must have been the ants.

Just because I'm a freak doesn't mean I have some new immunity to other abominations of nature, particularly little ones with lots of legs. I was lying on the air mattress. One crawled up my face, and I started screaming like I was on fire, which woke up the whole damn town. The sheriff was at our door in under thirty.

Rest assured I'm the laughing stock of the entire neighborhood. Thank god, Jake gave me his bed last night. It smelled like sweaty teenage boy, but it beats the bugs.

I'm spending the day dropping my cardboard boxes into my fabulous new room. And by "fabulous" I mean it's so dirty even the spiders couldn't handle it. I'm carrying in a box labeled "the junk I found under your bed" when I hear someone coming up to the truck. It takes me a moment to recognize the kid. He's in the pack. He's a lot shorter than the others. Seth, I think.

"Hey," he says almost too brightly.

"Hey."

He pulls out a box in the truck named "the clothes I didn't throw down the garbage disposal because they were so torn up. WEAR SOME STUPID KNEE PADS! We SO Can't afford this!" and laughs.

"You're mom seems really…interesting," he comments as he hoists the box onto his shoulder.

"Uh…you don't have to do this…" I tell him. My natural instincts are that if someone bigger than me has my stuff I should be shouting "thief" and then something along the lines of me shooting his kneecaps out. Though, I doubt that would fly well in this happy-go-lucky Mr. Rogers neighborhood-only-we're-all-poor setting. Besides, I'm not exactly sure if we're bulletproof yet.

"Nah, it's okay. I was just on my way to Sam's anyways."

"Is this some really important top-secret werewolf business I should know about?

"No," he smiles guiltily, "I could smell Emily's peach cobbler a mile away."

I roll my eyes. "I bet you could. Come on. My room's this way."

So far, my room contains all my furniture and a couple of opened boxes scattered around the floor. We silently walk from the truck to my room for a solid five minutes until there's a giant pyramid of boxes against the far wall.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

Not that we're finished, Seth takes a good look around my new place. "It's um….uh…you need any help cleaning it up?"

I smirk at him. "I've got it. Thanks" It's amazing I'm already standing up for the dump.

"Are you sure? I mean, I heard about the spider thing-" Now he's just teasing me.

"Shut up. Worst case scenario, I've got bug spray. And a shoe. Besides, the spider was on my _face_ last time….wait…you didn't tell any of the guys about that…did you?"

"Well…they sort of….already know-"

I plop down onto the bed and slap my hand against my forehead. Great. Now I'm the laughing stock of the entire pack too. As if being a girl wasn't going to make everything awkward enough as it was.

"Perfect," I grumble.

"It's not so bad," Seth reassures and sits down next to me, turning his back to the grimy windowpane. The bed groans under his weight.

"You don't have to try and cheer me up. I'm not gonna sit here and cry about it or anything."

"No, seriously. You're not the worst one out there. The thing about being a werewolf is…because we're a pack and all…we know everything about each other. And I do mean _everything._ Even though we try to respect each other's boundaries, there are no secrets. It's cool at times, but sometimes it's not exactly comfortable being all connected like that."

"What do you mean?"

Seth tries to hold back a grin and looks me dead in the eye. "Quil used to play with dolls."

"Dolls…you mean like…GI-Joes?"

"More like….Barbie dolls."

"You're joking!"

"Take it easy on him. Paul's older sister was getting rid of her 'talking town house.'"

"The one with the built-in kitchen and the elevator? That was on my Christmas list forever!"

He gives me a skeptical look and I look down at my hands. "When I was like…five."

"Quil thought it was pretty cool too. He found it on their front porch and took it while no one was looking. He has a lot of memories with that house, well, until his dad got all freaked out and made him give it to Jake's sisters."

I'm laughing now, and wonder if that same dollhouse is hiding up in the closet somewhere. Billy was using this room for storage until I came along. I told him he didn't have to go throwing everything out, that I had a dresser and my mom had thrown away most of my clothes anyway. I open the door and, sure enough, there is a big pink and blue dollhouse shoved in the back corner. I pull it out, pick up one of the much-abused beach blonde dolls, and smile.

"Well this is certainly not a GI-Joe."

"I'd be careful in there," Seth warns me.

I whip my head around to look at him. I feel the confusion clearly on my face. "Why?"

"There are a lot of cobwebs in there, which…well…lead to…"

"Don't say it," I growl in a threatening but playful voice, I position the doll like I'm about to throw it at him from across the room. "Or you'll have to explain to the pack how Malibu Beach Barbie gave you a black eye."

"The itsy bitsy spider…" Seth starts to sing.

I fling the doll straight toward him, and the second I let go I remember I've got Wonderwoman strength now. It all happens in slow motion. Seth dodges the doll, which goes straight through the window. The glass shatters all over the floor, leaving a big gaping hole where the dirty pane used to be.

"Oh…crap."

We stare at each other for one long second before we hear keys turning in the lock on the front door. Billy was home from Sue's for the afternoon. Of course he was.

Well wasn't this all freakin' fantastic! At this moment I really wish I had climbed through the window with Malibu Barbie.

Damn Spiders.


	9. I'm Gonna Wash My Mouth Out With Cobbler

-Sorry it's been a long time since I've uploaded. This one involves you to pay EXTRA attention (the scene in Deli *wink wink*)

Chapter Nine- "I'm Gonna Go Wash My Mouth Out With Peach Cobbler."

"What the hell just happened in here?" Jake comes barging into my room with a half-annoyed, half-concerned face.

It's Jake. Sweet, sweet Jake. Who's legally not old enough to inflict any kind of cruel or unusual punishment at my expense.

Relapsing from the fact that Billy wasn't home yet, I hesitantly point to the window and wait for his reaction.

"Aw, _damn_ it! _Seth_?"

"Leave Seth out of this. It wasn't his fault."

Jake lifts an eyebrow, speculating and turns to Seth with a look that's less like "I'm-about-to-rip-your-throat-out" and more like "Well…spit-it-out-before-I-rip-your-throat-out."

Seth holds up his hands in silent surrender. "It wasn't me, alright…Okay, it was kind of me. Kiley threw a doll at my face and I ducked. I didn't realize it would...ya know…go through the window."

"Wait…what was going on?"

"I found it in the closet. We were just kidding around and I wasn't thinking."

"Billy's gonna give you hell when he gets home."

Well no duh, Sherlock. I form the mental image of Billy running me over with his wheelchair.

"How much cash ya got?" Jake asks, interrupting my morbid fantasies.

I pull out a wad tucked inside my pillowcase and count the singles.

"A little over fifty dollars…" I had snuck a majority of my wad in my mom's purse before she drove back to Westridge. In retrospect, with the oh-so-mysterious elders cashing in my lunch money, I thought my mom was going to need my last Chichi's paycheck more than me. I guess I can scratch "good luck" and "physic abilities" off the list of magical qualities this werewolf thing comes with.

"I know where we can get a window. Cheap. I'll pay the rest. Dad's eating at Sue's tonight, so if we move now, I think I can replace the window by the time he gets back."

I run through the plan in my head, which doesn't sound too bad from where I'm sitting. But that would mean Jake actually cared enough to do me a favor, which just isn't possible. He has to want something. Drugs, money, and alibi.

"What's the catch?" I ask warily.

"No catch. We're cousins aren't we?" When he notices my stiff expression doesn't change, he gives an exaggerated sigh. "What? Can't I just do something nice for you?"

He is seriously going to go out of his way like this? Is it a pack thing, or maybe a little more of that small town cheeriness I've been suffocated with the past weekend? Seriously. How many welcome-to-the-neighborhood peach cobblers can one town bake in three days? Probably so they can fatten me up and let the vamps eat me. Living sacrifices and whatnot.

"I guess…if you want…" I finally reply. I hand him my wad, wondering if we get any money for protecting the general welfare of humanity or we're supposed to survive on "the goodness of our hearts."

Seth offers to chip in for the window, but Jake tells him to get lost and hurry on over to Emily's like a good little wolf. I take the passenger side and Jake races down to Forks like he's trying to get me to pee my pants. Apparently speeding is another wolf thing I'll just have to get used to, which means I will be walking. Everywhere. Forever.

We pass through a town that is about the size of my neighborhood and park in front of a hardware store with freaking flower pots in the windows. Trying to make up for the lack of sunshine I guess.

Jake pulls the keys out of the ignition and pulls his door open. I instantly catch the smell of fresh bakery bread from across the street, reminding me I'm hungry…again. Stupid smelling superpowers.

"Uh…Jake."

"Yeah?"

"Why don't you go get the window and I'll go get us some lunch."

"You don't have any money, remember?"

"Do you really want to eat leftover fish and cobbler for the third day in a row?" I plead, my stomach turning at the thought of shoving more good neighborliness down my throat.

He puffs out a sigh of surrender and rummages through the stack of bills.

"Fine…"

"Thanks, Jake. I'll pay you back the second I get the cash. I promise."

"Just go get me something to eat, and _a_ _lot _of it."

"Got it."

He slaps a five in my palm and I head for the Deli. He rolls down the side window and calls after me, shouting through the rain.

"Don't do anything stupid or Sam's gonna kill me!"

"I won't!" I yell after him as I run across the street. I open the door and the bell jingles as I drip rain all over the welcome mat. From what I can tell the shop is empty except for the two employees working behind the counter.

One is slaving over a stove so I can't get a good look at his face, but the girl at the register looks familiar. I think her and her mom may have dropped off a pie or something yesterday. I barely got to see anyone being a werewolf newbie and all, but I know she lives on the Rez.

"Hey, Kiley," she says in a what-a-lovely-surprise tone of voice. It's not that I don't want to talk to her or anything, but there's always that awkward moment when somebody wants to start a conversation with you and you can't, for the love of God, remember their name.  
>"Hey," I reply with all the peppy enthusiasm I have left (which isn't much) and try to add a name to the girl's face.<p>

"What are you doing in Forks?" she asks like she really gives a peach cobbler what I'm doing.

"Just doing a little shopping with Jake," I answer back, eyeing the meats and cheeses behind the glass. "Working on a few home repairs for my new room." That sounded normal, right?

"Neat. Are you here for a sandwich?"

"Uh…yeah. Can you get me…?" The phone in the back pocket of my jeans starts ringing, and I debate whether I should take my call outside or just not answer it. When I check the caller ID, it's Marco. I haven't spoken to him since the move.

I check the rain, which has begun to pour buckets, and decide there is no way I'm going out there to chitchat. I don't know if I'll be breaking some type of small-town hospitality code by answering my phone in the middle of a conversation, so I'm about to send it to voicemail. That's when Mystery Girl says, "Aren't you gonna get that?"

I give her a guilty smile and pick up at the last ring.

"How could you do this to me? I hate you!"

"Excuse me," I ask him, not taking Marco's ten second tantrum to the offense. He used to say the same thing when I beat him at pinball.

"You heard me! You're my salsa dancing partner, remember? AKA the only reason my mom doesn't send me to Mexico City for the summer. I've gotta "embrace my cultural heritage" and all that crap. I can't go live with my fat Aunt Benita all break! I swear to God, her creepy niece-in-law, Leticia, has the hots for me. Last year, she grabbed my butt during my Uncle's Christmas party."

"Relax, Marco! You're not going to be Leticia's lover all summer. Just find a new partner to do it with," I explain.

"Are you kidding? I'm never going to find another dance partner. Who else do you know salsa dances?"

"Check out the girls on the corner of Winchester and Gilbert," I suggest.

"The ones who are always dancing for dimes?"

"Yeah. They taught me everything I know. I needed a good workout, and it turned out to be really fun. I made some big bucks out of it too. You won't believe how much cash you can get on the streets these days."

"You know them? Who should I ask?" Now that I have an answer, the panic in his voice is nearly gone.

"Ask for Bree. Tell her Kitty sent you. She's practically a professional. Gonna make it in videos some day."

"Good. I need as much help as I can get," he grumbles.

"Don't worry. She'll lead you through the motions. I've told you before it's all in the hips, and you've gotten a lot better at it."

"I guess….how many times did I drop you at first?"

I feel myself smiling. "A lot. But recently I've spent a lot less time on my back."

"Thanks…sort of. I'll try not to break this girl's feet."

"Just remember what I taught you. In and out."

"Like the hokey pokey."

"Exactly."

"Thanks for the tip, and for being my partner too. I'm gonna miss using you at work."

I laugh, and a pang of homesickness hits me in the stomach, but that could just be from almost starving to death. "It was fun while it lasted, really, and when I'm back in the city again you can use me any way you want."

"You'll clean out the men's room for me?"

"Now you're just asking for it. Talk to ya later."

"'Kay. Bye, Kitten."

"Bye."

I hang up and go back to the deli counter, and the mystery chick is looking at me with wide eyes. I don't know why, but that's when I hear the guy from the back of the deli call for her. He calls her Kim, and then it hits me. She's Jared's reason for existence and his ooey-gooey love muffin or whatever.

"He your boyfriend?" Kim asks with a voice that, if I didn't know any better, is ice cold.

"No. He's just a friend. I worked for his family for, like, forever."

I don't really know what else I should say, but she doesn't want to seem to talk anyway. I order myself a turkey and cheese sub, deciding to forfeit the whole vegetarian thing, and pile Jake's sandwich with pretty much everything they had. I mumble a thank you and rush out of there, before the tension breaks another window.

As I'm walking back to the car I wonder how I've offended Kim. Does she know about the wolf thing? Does she know Jared has seen me naked? Is she jealous because I'm going to be spending a lot more time with the pack and thinks I'll steal Jared from her or something? That doesn't make any sense though? She seemed really nice when I walked in, before I talked to Marco. I replay the situation in my head, everything I said without Marco's input, and how it must have sounded. I freeze in shock with my hand still on the car door.

_Oh. My. God. _


	10. A Really Good Time to Call Aqua Man

Chapter 10- "This Would Be A Really Good Time to Call Aqua Man."

Okay, in my own defense, I know at some point in your life, no matter who you are, you've messed up at least once. Maybe you forgot to study for a big math test because you were too busy playing Black Ops. Maybe you tried sushi at the gas station down the road and spent the whole week throwing up. Maybe you went to Vegas and woke up married to a restroom attendant named Barney Lipinski, or you got in a sketchy white van because the guy promised you candy. If you managed to pull off that one and you're still reading this…kudos to you.

Point being said, I'm not having the best day of my life. Why? Because no matter how many AP classes I manage to ace, I'm a total idiot.

We eat our sandwiches on the road and Jake and I get home around dinnertime. I don't bother telling him about my encounter with Kim due to the self-reassurance that I'll just come clean at school and the two of us will laugh about it. By the time we get home, we're hungry again, so I boil some spaghetti I find crushed behind the cupboard, he fixes the window, and I sweep up the broken glass before Billy gets home. Then Jake goes out for the night shift.

When Billy does wheel himself through the front door, he tells me he ran into Ms. Bridget, the principal of La Push Tribal School, on his way to Sue's. Apparently, I can scamper my little butt along to school tomorrow morning. I nearly choke on my pasta. I haven't even unpacked yet. How did they get my paperwork so fast?

The phone rings, Billy gets it, grunts, and hands it to me with my mouth full of stale spaghetti. I wonder who'd have a reason to be calling me from Billy's house, except for maybe Sam. That seems a little ordinary though, a simple phone call, considering we're teenage-wolfs with psychic powers. If there was a vampire gone killer, I was expecting more of a batman symbol kind of thing. I put that as a mental note for our next meeting.

I take a big swallow of pasta and start with a surprised, "Hello?"

"Hello, Kiley. My name is Patricia Rhodes. I'm calling on behalf of the Washington Academic Scholarship Program."

"I'm sorry? What?" I absently scrape my dinner into the trash, due to the fact that it tastes like glue, and start washing the heap of dishes in the sink. The phone is between my chin and my cheek.

"Let me explain. When your records were transmitted into the state of Washington, you were recognized for exceeding academic expectations within a very respected and challenging school environment. On an academic scholarship, was it not?"

On that lovely note of my intellectual abilities, I have the stupidity to nod my head over a telephone conversation.

"Hello?"

"Oh, sorry. I'm here. Yes, that's true." I hear the front door shut so I'm guessing Billy's gone to chill out on the front porch. He spent four hours out there yesterday, so I'm assuming this is just a regular thing with him.

"Well with your grades and PSAT scores, we want to enroll you as a competitor in our program."

"Really?" In an effort to hear better I turn the hot water off, and result in twisting the rusty handle off the sink. This does not fail to shut down the water supply, because naturally that would make my life hell of a lot easier.

"Yes. We'd like to speak to you and your principal tomorrow morning at…La Push Tribal School." She says the name like a question, and I mentally face palm myself. Nothing says a "respected and challenging school environment" than a school filled with wolves that flinch at the sight of shirts, shoes, and soap.

Speaking of soap, I'm up to my elbows in it at this point. I dig around in the cabinets for something to mop up the mess.

"I'll…um….talk to my principal….uh….sometime…as soon as I can." I scatter a dishcloth all over the slippery floor, and it's too wet too quickly. I have to find a way to make the water stop.

"No need. I left a voicemail for her at the school. Being selected is such a prestigious honor, I'm sure she can spare a few minutes of her time."

"Yes, of course," I reply in my best the-house-totally-isn't-flooding-right-now voice. I crawl into the cupboard behind the sink and peek around at the rusty pipes. Where was one of those handy dandy born-holding-a-screwdriver boys when you needed one?

"Well, we'd like to get a look at your resume and ask you a few questions about your future."

I roll my eyes and want to snort into the phone. Yeah. My current goal in life is not to drown while attempting to fix these stupid pipes. What comes out instead is, "That sounds fine."

"Excellent. Just think of this like an interview. If you're as gifted as these papers tell us, I'm sure this will go very well."

"Me too. Bye." I hit end as soon as possible so I can focus on the task at hand. Then I remember that I know absolutely nothing about plumbing.

"Billy?" I shout without trying to sound too helpless.

Nothing. Okay. Let's try this again.

"Billy!"

Alight screw the confident attitude.

"Billy! I need your help!"

Damn it.

I sit up so I can go get him myself and wind up smacking my head against a pipe. Being nearly indestructible, all I feel is a sting where my forehead hit metal. The pipe, unfortunately, has a huge crack in it. Before I produce any kind of useful reaction, I get a nice smack of water in the face.

Good news. The sink stopped running. Bad news. The pipes are leaking and it's so much worse.

One hand is pressed up against the pipe to keep myself dry. The other is still clutching the phone.

The phone! I **very** carefully slide myself out from under the sink. The water goes gushing everywhere, but I'll have to worry about that later. On the fridge, there's a list of numbers. About ten people. Apparently, Billy taped the town phonebook to the refrigerator. I scroll down the list of names until I find one I recognize. He answers on the first ring.

"Billy?" Sam asks me in his way too serious voice. In this case, I'm glad he's expecting the worst.

"Kiley," I counter, trying to keep my cool. No need for him to be sending the entire pack over a broken sink.

My tone doesn't seem to soothe him. "Kiley? What's wrong?"

"It's nothing…really." I'm just turning Billy's house into a swimming pool. "But…um…is there any chance you know somebody who could lend me a pound of bubblegum?" I know. I've never been very good at asking for help.

There's a long, awkward pause and I slip over to the door. Billy must have left. Thank God. Though I'm not sure how I can sweep my latest home disaster under the bed.

"Am I supposed to dignify that question with an answer?" Sam snaps. Great. He sounds pissed.

"Okay. I broke Billy's sink and I need to fix it. _Really _fast."

I hear an irritated sigh coming from the other line and he hangs up. Could I take that as a yes?

I get my answer two minutes later, when Embry pokes his head into the kitchen.

He sums his feelings up in one word. "Wow."

I'm on my knees, catching water with a mop bucket. I shoot him a look of pure desperation.

"_Please_ tell me you can stop this."

"Well I don't have any bubblegum, but I'm sure I can manage."

I nearly jump up and kiss him in relief. Scooting over so he can squeeze his enormous body under the teeny tiny sink, he performs some kind of miracle that stops the water in ten seconds.

Words cannot describe how incredibly grateful I am, but I start with "Thanks."

He stands up to look at my soaking wet hair and clothes, and a mischievous grin spreads across his face.

My gratitude turns into suspicion. "What is it?"

"You're really rocking that wet T-shirt look."

I glare at him and skate across the kitchen floor with as much dignity as I can. It's a good thing he can't see my face, because it's probably tomato red.

"You are such a pig," I mutter as I go to the bathroom and collect an armful of towels.

"I was just messing with you," he replies in an innocent tone. He grabs a handful of his own, which is equivalent to my armful, and heads back to the kitchen.

"Wait…You don't have to do this," I tell him as he begins placing towels down on the floor.

"In the future, when I do something as dangerous as destroying Billy's oh-so-glamorous-kitchen…By the way, it really stinks in here."

"That's the fish. You get used to it. Now, you were saying?" I ask as I open up a window.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is, we're a tight knit community. I've got your back and, hopefully, you won't push mine off a cliff."

I find myself laughing, which I certainly wasn't expecting after nearly losing it five minutes ago. "We'll see. And thanks again. Really."

"You can say that after you see my bill."

I feel my heart make a leap out of my chest. "Your what!"

He cracks a smile, and I remember the cookie analogy I made three days ago. I feel myself getting warm all over and pray to God he doesn't notice.

"Kiley, I'm kidding."

I remember to breathe, start drying the counters, and, for some reason, during the whole stupid cleanup, I can't stop smiling.

Like I said before, we've all screwed up, me possibly being the world record holder, but that doesn't mean I'm sorry about it. *Insert moral lesson about friendship here*

That was until Billy got home. Yeah, that wasn't pretty. Definitely not breaking any more appliances for the rest of my sorry life.


	11. I'm Learning from an Alcoholic Skunk

First off, before you read about how Kiley manages to screw up her life today (I know. I'm totally evil.), I wanted to say thanks for reading this far. : 3

Chapter 11- "I'm Taking Life Lessons from an Alcoholic Skunk. How do you Think Things are Going?"

So I'm just marching up the patio steps to Miss Martha Stewart's front door on an ever so lovely Monday morning, minding my own business, when something soft and solid hits me square in the back of the head. I spin around and catch the flying object before it falls.

Paper towels. Hilarious.

Quil cuts the engine on his crappy truck; Jared climbs out of shotgun, and Paul leaps out of the bed, an evil grin on his face. School starts in forty minutes, and they strut up the front porch in dirt-stained kakis like it's nobody's business. Are they seriously allowed to go to school dressed half-naked like that?

Paul, who obviously threw the paper towels, takes one of his giant hands and ruffles up my hair.

"That's for when you destroy Sam's water heater," he teases and I feel my face heat up at the remark.

"Or the brake line on your motorcycle," I add in an overly-innocent tone. Yay for randomly convenient witty comebacks. I smile sweetly at him as his expression turns into a smirk.

Jared and Quil burst into a small fit of laughter, and embarrassed, Paul scowls at me in response. He removes his hand and stomps into the kitchen. Jared and Quil follow after him, but before Quil goes in, he takes a turn to stop and screw up my hair.

"You are a piece of work. You know that," he tells me, almost like a compliment.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask with curiosity and slight irritation. I attempt to detangle the mess on my head, and give up after about five seconds.

"Well, compared to the rest of us, you're really little and…well…kind of adorable." I open my mouth to defend what dignity there is about my so-called "adorable" self, but Quil leans over to meet my eyes. There, I see he's not trying to be a stupid jerk. He only sounds like one. His voice drops to a whisper.

"Honestly, they don't think you stand a chance out there. Killing bloodsuckers and everything. They say you're not gonna have what it takes. But if it makes ya feel better, Embry and I think they're wrong. I think you've got spunk."

I'm offended and even a little bit hurt that the other guys don't have faith in me. Alright, in all truthfulness, I'm not exactly looking forward to the idea of hunting bloodsuckers. I mean, seriously. What little girl goes up to their mom at age four and says, "Mommy, when I grow up, I wanna rip the heads off of scary red-eyed vampires with a bunch of flea-infested boys!"? Stick that right next to the fairy princess gimmick and see the reaction you get.

But, that doesn't mean I can't do what has to be done here. Just because I'm not seven feet tall and built like a rhino. But with their opinions of me in mind, it's nice to know at least Quil and Embry believe in me.

"You really think that?" I whisper back, almost touched by his support.

"Well, that, and I've sort of got fifty bucks counting on it."

Scratch that. He actually is a stupid jerk.

I eat two bowls of oatmeal and about enough bacon to feed a third world country. Sam gives me the week off to adjust to life here, and I'll start my first patrol route next Monday morning. I don't know if I'm supposed to be excited about waking up at two in the morning, but my lack of enthusiasm apparently isn't new. Shocker.

But it isn't all strictly business. I get the motherly words of wisdom about starting my first day of school. This isn't the typical advice I'm used to getting, though. Apparently, Mom's been doing it all wrong. Instead of an "Always do your best. Ask lots of questions. Make friends. Stay away from the kids that smell like drugs and bring pointy tools to school. Don't get pregnant or drunk in the bathroom." I get a "Your grades aren't important. Keep your mouth shut. Screw friends. Stay away from the normal kids as much as you can. Don't get mad and kill anyone."

Unless the rest of you weren't aware, killing people is wrong now. Like I couldn't have put _that_ one together?

Quil offers me a ride in his truck, but I pass, since the school is literally three blocks away. For a town filled with poor kids that can probably run for hours without getting tired, you'd think they'd stop feeding that truck so much gas.  
>I guess the guys are too busy inhaling Emily's bacon to remember school, because, when I get there, all I see are normal-sized, shirt-wearing teenagers staring at me like I'm from another planet. I look down at my not-ripped-when-I-bought-them-but-I-skateboard-so-I'm-going-to-pretend-I'm-being-a-badass-fashionista jeans and the MCR T-shirt Twizler stole for me on my fifteenth birthday. Just for the record, when your friends sets off the security alarms at Hot Topic, throws a T-shirt at your face, and drags your confused-ass out of the parking lot yelling "Run like hell!" it may possibly, on the off chance, not be paid for.<p>

Anyways, don't think I forgot about my interview with the Washington Academic Scholarship Program, because I know you're thinking it. My Evanburrow uniform is in my backpack, and I'm going to learn the next tactic to become a full-fledged superhero: quick costume changes. Somewhat ordinary girl by day, sophisticated private-school-attending intellectual by my interview. Oh, and a four legged growling monster on occasion. Let's not forget that one.

Ignoring all the whispers and staring, I head straight to the main office, we're a perky young woman with stylish glasses sets up from her seat and shakes hands with me. Since my middle school principal in Westridge carried a jar of MACE on his belt, this lady's happy expression makes me wonder if she's possessed. When she hugs me, I do a sign of the cross behind her back and, since she doesn't burn, I'm even more terrified.

Ms. Bridget eventually looks down at my destroyed jeans, and I explain that have a skirt in my backpack. The bell for class rings, and, without a student in site, I slip into the girl's room and change into my uniform. We go down to her colorfully directly but incredibly tiny office, where we meet Mrs. Rhodes, a pale, plump woman with a ring on every finger. I smile at her politely as she shakes my hand, and that's when I realize she's covered in a stinky perfume that makes my eyes water.

"My dear, are you crying?" she asks as we sit down across from Ms. Bridget's desk.

"Uh….Sorry….I'm just really honored of being accepted into this great opportunity." And your perfume smells like a skunk that wanted to party, drank a bowl filled with tequila, and threw up on himself. That's coming from personal experience, by the way. Marco had a pet skunk named Tito before it became an alcoholic and died of intoxication.

She seems to like the cover-up response and begins explaining the program requirements. I'll be taking math with the seniors, science with the juniors, and English and history with the sophomores. In other words, I'm going from the poor nerdy girl to just the nerdy girl who used to live in California. I'll also need to fill out community service, take summer school classes, and a bunch of other things that you honestly don't care about. I get my class schedule, which shouldn't be hard to find considering there's only ten classrooms, a cafeteria, and a gym.

"Now why don't you meet your new classmates," Ms. Bridget chirps when I'm pretty sure my nose will never recover. Once again: Damn super smelling powers. When she nearly yanks my arm out of my socket, I realize that since small towns are so depressing; people probably get addicted to happy pills and just go nuts.

Miss Bridget pokes her head in the door of my homeroom class, English 11, with a "Mr. Gilbert, I hate to interrupt but I have a new addition to your class."

I can't believe she's actually pulling the whole lets-put-lots-of-attention-on-the-new-girl-and-make-her-as-uncomfortable-as-possible act. She does literally everything but sacrifice me to the freaking volcano of awkwardness.

For those of you who have been in this situation, I'm sure I can get some empathy here. My stomach drops to the floor, the room starts to sway a little, my face is flushed, and my heart's pounding louder than my school uniform-

_No!_

Before I come to terms with the fact that I'm dressed like a Catholic schoolgirl, I'm standing in front of the entire sophomore student body. Bile builds up in my throat, and the image of Tito stumbling around in an alleyway pops into my head. Contemplating the rest of my life as an alcoholic seems to be the only solution to making this situation bearable.

You probably think I'm overreacting, but there are two things you don't know yet. The sound of Mr. Gilbert choking on his coffee distracts the class and me for a good five seconds, and then I realize out why. He's looking at me with an unmistakable recognition and the shock of it is clear on his face. I jump to the conclusion that he knew my mother, but the more I stare at him, the more obvious it becomes. I've seen that look about a hundred times before. His face is getting red, he's a little twitchy, there's a bead of sweat on his forehead, but the biggest give away is this. When the shock of seeing me is over, his eye contact deliberately shifts to everywhere but me, like he's guilty about something he did…

When I figure it out, I actually grab the trashcan next to his desk, and hurl up my oatmeal. I don't know when, where, or why, but I'll bet my shiny new scholarship that at some point, my English teacher and my mom have hooked up.

The second thing is, when I finish wiping the puke off my mouth in front of Mr. Gilbert, Ms. Bridget, and twenty-two disgusted students, somebody wolf whistles at my "sexy" little schoolgirl skirt. I don't know it yet, but rumor has it that I'm the new school slut.


	12. Paul Passing Chem Makes Me a Superhero

Chapter 12- Paul Passing Chemistry Makes Me a Superhero

So, obviously, my first day at La Push Tribal School isn't on the best-days-of-my-life list. I mean, things could have gone a teensy bit better. For example, I could have gotten mugged by vampires on the way to school, or maybe Quil's truck could have had a second chance at my life and crashed through the wall. Sadly, I'm not that lucky. Instead, I've found out my English teacher and my mom have had a past, I've spilled my guts out in front of all my new classmates, and God knows what they think of my uniform. I find out when some kid in the back row whistles at me, resulting in snickers among the class.

I stand there while I wait for the ringing in my ears to stop, too nauseated to think of why some kid would react like that.

"Alight, that's enough, Ryan," Ms. Bridget scolds with one of those incredibly life-threatening finger wags. But she doesn't seem to put much enthusiasm into it, like she's disciplined this particular student a million times before. Ryan has to be some kid to make Little Miss Sunshine look that aggravated, but maybe some of the blame goes to my inability to hold down breakfast.

My eyes dart back to Mr. Gilbert, who has his thin, tired face cupped miserably in his hands. I wonder if I should pull something out of daytime TV and tell him he isn't the father, but I'm not exactly sure how to bring up my mother's sex life in class.

"Dear, do you need to go see the nurse?" Ms. Bridget inquires like she's my grandma versus my high school principal.

Yeah, so I can find out the school nurse and my mom used to be keg party buddies. Dream on.

"Uh…no thank you," I manage to mutter, my face so hot even my ears are warm.

Ms. Bridget takes a long, reluctant sigh. Weirdly enough, this isn't going as nicely as she planned. "Well, I'm sure you can take it from here," she tells Mr. Gilbert with a forced grin, takes the trash can, and leaves.

At least Mr. Gilbert manages to pull himself together by the time she gets back to her office. He hands me a textbook, silently sends me to a desk in the back row, and continues with his lecture on irony. This would have been fine if I wasn't sitting across from Ryan, who keeps staring at me the same way Quil stares at bacon.

After the bell rings, I make a run for the bathroom and switch out of my uniform before I can draw any more attention to myself. Though, that doesn't seem possible. These kids seem to be giving me more than just the typical new-girl look, even for a place as dull and secluded as here. It's like I'm being judged by every pair of eyes I pass, from my clothes to my hair to the way I glimpse back at their disapproving faces. I literally check behind me to make sure a tail isn't sticking out of my jeans.

When I step into chemistry, Mrs. Raven actually gives me a small genuine smile, writes down a list of make-up assignments, and doesn't try to humiliate me in public. Since my last class was two units ahead, I think things are going to go pretty well, but, because I'm me, I get Paul as a lab partner.

"What do you think you're doing here? That's my seat!" Paul practically shouts at me after barging through the door.

I put down my chemistry book to get a good look at this guy. This is so _not _the day to be accusing me of chair theft. I'm from Westbridge. That means, good girl or not, if I steal something, I can guarantee you this. Number one, you'll never know it was me, and, number two; you're never getting it back.

"Nice to see you too, Paul. My day's been great. Oh, by the way, we're lab partners now, so you may want to consider shutting up. You know, before you make a complete idiot of yourself."

He glowers at me, glances around the half-filled room, and decides there are too many witnesses to throw a chair at my head. With that thought in mind, he storms over, takes the seat next to me, and, fuming, puts his head down on the desk.

All we do is take notes for about half an hour, but at the end of class, Mrs. Raven assigns us to pair up on a lab assignment. Paul has spent a very productive bell practicing how loudly he can snore and get away with it.

"Paul…Paul…_Paul_. Wake up!"

He slowly lifts his head up and glares at me through squinted eyes. "Just shut up, already," he grumbles. "You're smart. Well…smart enough. Figure it out."

"Excuse me?"

"Look," he begins, miraculously managing to drop his voice to a whisper. "Sam doesn't want you going out there and breaking a nail or whatever on your first day. And, believe me, the less I have to hear your voice inside my head the better, but guess who has to take the night shifts for the rest of the week? Consider this retuning the favor."

I roll my eyes and start reading the follow-up instructions on the chromatography experiment.

"I know you _definitely_ need your beauty sleep and everything," I point out with cold resentment, "but I'm pretty sure your brain needs all the help it can get."

"You wanna start something start somethin,' little girl?" he growls. His white teeth are exposed threateningly, like he really is a wolf.

It appears that his anger at me trumps naptime, and suddenly, he's wide awake. He springs up from his chair, his dark eyes burning for a fight. His massive hands are balled into angry, trembling fists, and I think maybe instigating the incredibly thickskulled hulk wasn't the best idea I ever came up with. I knew Paul was hotheaded and everything, but he wouldn't go all wolf in the middle of class. Would he?

"Uh….yes?" I answer hesitantly, eyeing the bottle of ink on our desk. "I want you to start putting a dot of _this_ ink on a sheet paper."I snatch it up and push it into his palm before he can react. Not being the response he was expecting, he scrutinizes the stuff like it'll blow up at any second. He turns to look back at me, the anger on his face replaced with disbelief.

"What?"

With that being said, I know exactly what to say.

"Um…well. This is a chromatography project. You see, the molecules in the stuff we see are always attracted to each other. Different materials can be attracted or repelled, depending upon the structure of their molecules. We can demonstrate the different attractive forces between substances to separate a mixture of compounds, using the ink with water as the solvent. You understand?"

He's wearing this totally blank expression that tells me I lost him after "chromatography," but for the sake of his pride, he isn't going to say that.

"Uh…sure…I guess."

I take a relieved sigh and smile up at him. "Good. Let's get to work."

Chemistry lesson of the day: Due to Paul's limited emotional capacity, his anger and confusion can't exist at the same time. Which I'm grateful for, considering the classroom isn't large enough to maintain Paul's ego, let alone his wolf form. Call me a nerd or whatever, but, for once, the whole "power of knowledge" thing actually pulled through for me.

To my complete shock, (I still can't believe it!) our lab actually turned out pretty well. It wasn't real complicated or anything, but nothing exploded; and I call that a success.

At the end of class, I'm cleaning up our table, and, expecting Paul to make a run for it, he waits back for the rest of the room to clear out.

"I've got it," I inform him, giving the sign to start towards the cafeteria. I mean, if he doesn't go now, Quil's going to inhale all of the "chili surprise" stuff I started smelling an hour ago. I'm sure he also knows that chili is well past fresh, but skipping meals with these guys seems to go against their religion.

"Good to know," Paul replies, lazily leaning back in his seat. I clench my teeth together and decide, since Mrs. Raven and the students are within Paul's safety zone, it's alright to cut the civility between us.

"What do you want then?" I ask, while collecting my books. He gets up when I do, but he doesn't make room for me to leave.

"I just wanted to say, you don't suck as much as I thought you did. Ya know. At first."

I think he's attempting to be sincere, and, with Paul, I'm not sure it will get any better than that, so I take it. Sort of.

"Thanks Paul. You don't….stink…as much as I thought you would." There. It isn't exactly true, but I'm not about to tell him that showering and deodorant don't produce the same result.

"Alight, we can cut the crap," Paul replies and takes a moment to prepare himself for what he's about to say. It ends up coming out in a rush. "I need a favor. I gotta to pass science or my dad sells my motorcycle for parts. You seem to know this stuff. Ink and molecules and everything. You keep makin' me look good in front of Raven; I'll help you out with the Sam thing."

"You mean, the wolf th-"

"Shut up, will you!" he hisses. "We don' need the whole damn school knowin' about us!"

"Sorry," I whisper back and try to maneuver my way around Paul, but he seems to be faster with his hands than with his head. When walking away doesn't seem to be an option, I look him straight in the eye and try to feel taller than I am.

"Look," I begin. "You want my help; I suggest you ask for it. Besides, I can handle Sam on my own."

He rolls his eyes and snorts. "Please. You can't even handle a broken sink."

The heat in my cheeks from first period decides to make a second appearance.

"Sweetheart, let's keep this between you and me. My motorcycle is probably worth more to me than _any_ of my future kids. If I have to blow up this chemistry lab in order to pass-"

"I'm sorry. Did you just say you're going to _reproduce_? What did the world do to you?"

"How about this. You help me pass chem. I keep my motorcycle. No kids."

"So you're saying by tutoring you, I'm saving the human race?"

"Ha-ha. Real Cute. When did you become such a smartass?"

"I'm not having the best day," I protest. "A little sarcasm doesn't hurt. Besides, you need a smartass."

"Are you saying you'll do it?" Paul asks, an eyebrow rose in anticipation.

"Okay! Just…fine! I'll help you, but I'm not doing the work for you and-"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Be at my house on Tuesday. 2 o'clock."

Before I have time to respond, he's making up for lost time at the lunch room. Wondering where my don't-talk-to-anyone-normal status leaves me at lunch, I sniff my way towards the cafeteria.

That's where I see Kim again, and, after today's encounter, Jared's probably going to turn me into a chew toy.


	13. Crying Over Spilled Milk

Chapter Thirteen-"Crying Over Spilled Milk" Just Took On a Whole New Meaning to Me

When I enter the lunchroom, I spot Kim sitting with a bunch of other girls, while everyone from the pack but Seth and Sam are huddled around one table. As I step in line for whatever's left of the chili, I contemplate sitting with the guys. Though we are in the same "pack" now, I'm not sure that makes me part of the group. It's not like I chose to be here, or they chose me for that matter. Besides, I'm going to be seeing plenty of them at home, during classes, and all things wolf-related in between.

I glimpse back at the table and catch Embry's expectant expression from across the cafeteria, where I detect a hint of amusement in his eyes. It's not that creepy, I've-been-staring-at-you-for-the-past-three-minutes-praying-to-the-high-heavens-you'll-grace-me-with-your-presence kind of stare. It's sort of like when you see a friend who has really good news to tell you. It's like they're silently asking "Are you coming over here or what?"

He's got that same authentic smile on his face, and there goes the cookie-melting feeling. I'm smiling back before I realize it.

Or maybe I'm wrong about the whole thing. Maybe he's staring at me because he's hungry and I have some lukewarm chili on my tray. The odds seem pretty equal.

As much as I want to talk to Embry and thank him again for the sink, my attention is diverted to other places. Quil's placing money on whether I'm man enough to kill. Jake got home late last night, so I'm not sure I want to be around him at the moment. And who could forget the ever-so-charming Paul?

I give the lunch lady my change and feel my lips turn into a scowl. As appealing as it all sounded, maybe it would be nice to meet some friends who were, well, normal girls. The only penis-less friends that I had back home were Babybel and Ronnie. Babybel was eccentric, but at least she acted like a girl. Ronnie would more likely stab you with a tube of lipstick than wear one. Not exactly a slumber party sorority chick in my book.

I approach the table in the most ordinary way possible, which is hard due to the dagger-eyed stares I'm getting from the girls surrounding Kim. In Westridge, this would be the heads up to pull the switchblade out of my backpack. Flashing back to the incident in the woods, I come to the stunning awareness I find this more terrifying. At least I could fight back in that case.

"Hey," I address meekly, my voice faltering at the end. The girls glare at me like I just pushed their grandmothers down an empty elevator shaft. Well, no turning back now.

Kim sits there with her eyes averted and her face buried behind a math book. Not to blow my own horn or anything, but I think I'm a tad more interesting than algebra.

"Shut up," the girl on Kim's right scoffs, her eyes burning with disdain. I can feel the complete look of shock on my face.

"Excuse me?" I reply, more confused than offended. I subconsciously take a step back. The milk on my tray sloshes over the rim.

"You heard me," Burning Eyes retorts, getting up from her seat. If I was in wolf-form, I would feel the fur on my back stand up, positioned for a brawl.

"Would you like to fill me in, because now I'm totally lost," I suggest, saying my thoughts.

"We know what your mother was. A trouble-making, provocative little _slut_, who did nothing but ruin this town and, frankly, we don't want you here."

"What are you talking about?" I blurt out, coming to the conclusion that small-town communities really like to hold grudges. It's not like my Mom _murdered_ anyone. Although, Westbridge is the home of the criminally inclined. Who knows?

And I'm well aware I should be extremely pissed right now…I'm getting to that.

"Kim heard you on the phone. She told us the kind of girl you really are. We may not be snobby rich kids, but we don't associate with people like you. We all saw that stunt you pulled this morning with that sexy schoolgirl costume. You may have thought you were so clever hooking up with my boyfriend, but-"

"Just….hold up for a minute, please. I didn't hook up with _anybody_ around here."

"Oh. So you're sayin' you're not good enough for any of the guys here, is that it? Because Ryan's got a bruise on his neck the size of a golf ball, and it got planted there the day you danced your skimpy little butt into town. Don't even pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do, so I just stare at her, frozen. Everyone is silent, waiting for me to deny it. Kim stands up and puts a hand on her friend's shoulder.

"Cut it out, Dana," Kim commands in a soft, but steady voice. She's obviously not one for attention. I'm somewhat touched she's standing up for me and everything, despite the fact that she's the main reason I'm in this stupid mess.

"Why don't you tell us all why you're really here, Kiley?" Dana continues, ignoring Kim. "It's because you got knocked up and you're too ashamed to show your face in that pretty little city of yours."

I'm taken off guard by such a strong accusation. The pieces are clicking together in my head, and sadly, it seems more believable than the truth. My mom's the infamous slut. Word spreads around I'm her protégée. I've moved here at random with no public explanation, and then they see me throwing up at nine-thirty in the morning. Morning sickness. Chances are I'm pregnant. Ryan gets caught cheating and the fingers go straight to me.

The silence seems to make things worse, and the claim molds itself into the truth. My fate in La Push has been sealed by lunchtime. That has got to be a new record. I haven't even gotten though all the welcome-cobblers in the fridge.

On the plus side, in nine months this is going to be hysterical.

My natural instinct is to turn about and walk away. I'm not a violent person, and it's not like I haven't been called mean things before. The worst thing I could do is hit back, considering my super-strength could knock her teeth out. Maybe the guys would look the other way this time, regarding it as a contribution to the greater good. Something tells me this girl talks way too much.

I turn around and face the opposite side of the cafeteria, searching around for an empty table to retreat to. I see the pack watching me, waiting to see how I'll counter Dana's lies, and I understand the gravity of the situation. This isn't about defending my reputation; this is about running from Dana with my tail between my legs. I've always had my friends to handle punks like her, but, standing alone, I'm a coward.

I need to show the pack I can fight my own battles, or else they'll never give me a chance. The first thing that pops into my head is "What would Ronnie do right now?" Then I realize I want the girl scared, not dead.

I spin back around, drop my lunch tray, and it clashes to the ground, milk pooling around my shoes. I can almost hear Quil's mental wince at my wasted chili. He'll have to get over it.

"Listen here you little smart-mouthing liar," I begin, making her spring back one step. "I'm from Westbridge on the _west _side. Don't forget that. I'm not from some glamorous, highlife society. I've been carrying pepper spray around since I was five and could handle a switchblade at age nine. Last year, I got jumped by four guys and walked off without a scratch. (That's because I'm a fast runner, but she doesn't have to know that.)

Where I'm from, we don'ttake _kindly_ to chicks who talk smack. Next time you spread fire around your pint-sized piece of a town, remember I have friends worse off that don't put up with 'people like you.'"

At this point I've got her loosely by the collar of her shirt. Kim stands beside Dana, wide-eyed in alarm, while Dana attempts to compose herself. She manages a fiery grimace, but it's nowhere near as confident as her previous expression. She certainly wasn't expecting that. In all honestly, neither was I. The switch inside me flicks off, and I let her go.

Since I've made my point, I believe it's socially acceptable to hide spinelessly in the bathroom and pity myself until next period. I make half a step towards the double doors, when all hell breaks loose.

Dana grabs me by the shoulder and spins me in her direction, clearly not finished with me yet. The problem with this is the milk on the floor causes me to lose my balance. I slip and crash into Kim, who hastily grabs my hair as I take her down with me. Her head hits the ground with a crack and yanking me down by fistfuls of my hair. In an instinctual attempt to stop the throbbing at my temples, I pry her hands off me and pin them to her sides.

While Kim and I are spending some much needed "girl time" together on the sticky cafeteria floor, a shrill, piercing wail echoes throughout the room. I put my hands over my ears, in an effort to tune out the sound. My eyes dart across the lunchroom, trying to seek out its source, but a crowd of students blocks my view as they run toward the exit.

At first I wonder why everybody's freaking out, but I encounter the answer when an ice-cold shower comes bursting from the ceiling.

"And then Jared pulled the fire alarm," I explain, ringing my hair out in Miss Martha Stuart's kitchen. "And the sprinklers went off."

The principal dismissed the entire school early due to the false alarm, so here I sit, reenacting my stupendous first day at tribal school. As fun as it was, retelling it to Sam just put the cherry on top of my big fat humiliating experience. Quil, Embry, and Paul are moving about the kitchen, digging around for dry towels or sandwich ingredients in the fridge. Despite the fact that we ate lunch an hour ago, I'm not surprised they're building up ham and cheese subs 6 inches tall.

"We sort of had to, Boss," Paul clarifies while rummaging through the fridge. "It looked like a fight from where we were standin.' Jared was gonna explode unless we let him do somethin' besides rippin' her throat out."

Sam's face has gone from a how-on-earth-did-you-manage-to_-_screw-up-_today_-Kiley to a what-the-hell-are-we-going-to-do-with-you expression. The story around the tribe is I threatened poor, _poor _Dana and tackled Kim due to my uncivilized nature. Thankfully my punishment has been averted on whoever pulled the fire alarm. Since Sam is the sheriff, I hardly doubt Jared's going to get more than a "don't let it happen again, unless Kiley sets the lunchroom on fire."

"I already told you, I slipped," I protest, while my thoughts turn over to Kim and Jared. From what we know there wasn't any serious damage from the fall, but now Jared is Kim's personal anti-Kiley bodyguard. Because, you know, the first thing I want to do now is make the town hate me even more than they already do.

"Okay. We have the real story. Now how are we going to fix it?" Embry inquires, placing a sandwich in front of me the size of his head.

"What do you mean 'fix it'?" I ask, taking a bite into my sub.

"You've been wrongly accused and now everybody in town buys stuck-up Dana Runner's stupid story. You can't honestly think that's okay."

"Wait, so you're not pregnant?" Quil questions with his mouth half-full of pre-dinner-lunch.

"Of course she isn't!" Paul exclaims, and, for a moment, I think he's actually defending my virtue. "I mean, who'd want to tap _that_!"

My hero.

"Shut up, Paul," Embry growls, and his eyes linger on my face. "Maybe you should tell us how this whole rumor started," he suggests. Quil, his mouth stuffed with food, nods encouragingly. I sigh and confess about the afternoon in the sandwich shop. Once I'm finished, Paul and Embry are trying to suppress their amusement, while Quil's in a fit of laughter. Sam's an uncomfortable shade of red, probably thinking "Oh God, why?"

My face in flushed in embarrassment, but, as I'm repeating the incident, something dawns on me.

"Now that I'm thinking about it, this may not a bad thing," I point out, causing each of their heads to shoot up in curiosity.

"What are you talking about?" Embry asks, misunderstanding furrowing his brow. "Everybody assumes you're some kind of slutty little street thug? How is that a good thing?"

"Sam says I need to stay away from people, right? You know, when I'm not running around in the woods with a bunch of half-naked boys. It's a perfect alibi."

"So you're saying you _want _the town to think you're a whore?" Paul accuses with raised eyebrows.

"If it keeps our secret safe, I don't see why not. Besides, I know who I really am, and you know who I really am, so what's the problem here?"

"Your dignity," Embry replies crossly.

"So does this mean we get to…like….make-out with you and stuff. Because if it keeps our secret safe, I'm willing to make that sacrifice…ya know…for the pack."

Embry walks over to Quil and takes the liberty of smacking him upside the head.

"Please. She can do _so_ much better than you," Embry remarks.

"Let the lady speak for herself," Quil counters, rubbing his head.


End file.
